


Teaching Students

by SeeEmRunning



Series: Sam at Hogwarts [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeEmRunning/pseuds/SeeEmRunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's first year of teaching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! New story!
> 
> So first, a note: Sam does have a hard time adjusting to the problems in his arm. Figuring out how to work around it, and his feelings about it, are a part of the story. Skipping the adjustment period seemed like a copout to me, in all honesty, and the first part is denial. (I speak from related-though-not-identical experience here. Took me three years to accept nothing was going to change. Sam's a lot faster on the uptake.)

After he'd filled out all the paperwork and opened an account at Gringotts for his pay to be deposited into, McGonagall showed him to a room on the third floor. Even hungover, it didn't take long for Sam Winchester to get settled in. He still couldn't use his right arm very well - or at all, if it required bending his elbow or shoulder- so he was forced to rely on magic to hang up his clothes. 

The khakis and polos he had retained from law Academy would work very well for day-to-day, and he had his green dress robes from fourth year that he could manipulate. His lilac robe had been decorated at some point without his noticing: there were now three bars on the outside of his left sleeve, signifying his graduation; two stars on his left breast, showing that he'd fought in combat; a silver brain dangling from a purple ribbon just over his heart, for the wounds he'd received; a small rectangle with red, white, and blue stripes that signified command on his right breast; and, on the outside of his right sleeve, a dog pin for his Animagus form. Apparently nobody had known what else to put for a hellhound, and so he and Mickey had gotten the same pins. The belt around the middle was buckled with the insignia of the American Law Academy, from which he had graduated the previous day.

Finished with his clothes, he walked to the Defense classroom and surveyed it. The walls were bare, the front desk scratched and dull. There were scorch marks on the wall, and a window was still broken; Sam repaired those minor flaws and walked to the desk, beating back the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He didn't know how to be a _teacher._

Then again, with his arm fucked up, he wouldn't be able to do what he'd been trained for. It hadn't really hit him, until McGonagall had sent him to Pomfrey and Pomfrey had told him that it was hopeless, that this was permanent. He'd thought it similar to a broken arm, somehow, annoying and painful but ultimately reversible given enough time. But if Pomfrey, who had seen him through the aftermath of a basilisk bite, couldn't fix it….

He squashed those thoughts and focused instead on the pep talk he'd _originally_ been trying to give himself. Teaching couldn’t be _that_ bad.

He glanced at the blackboard. He'd need to write on it, and his handwriting had abruptly gone back to a preschooler's scrawl when he'd begun using his left hand exclusively. He tentatively tried to levitate the chalk and write with it, but that was almost worse. "Damn it," he muttered. Maybe the library would have some suggestions? Or McGonagall? He remembered her tapping the board once or twice and having it fill with words.

Library first, he decided, and swept out of the room.

He found the spell in the sixth Charms book he looked through. Simple enough wand movement and incantation. Sam memorized it and returned to the classroom. His first attempts worked poorly - overlarge wand movement, maybe, or possibly just clumsiness or unfamiliarity with the spell - but he did, eventually, manage to get it right. He put the spell through its paces, forcing it to diagram the Layered Shield Spell, the obstacle course he'd run every day for fourteen months, and anything else that came to mind. He spent the rest of the afternoon pacing out and tracing a dueling platform at the front of the room and practicing with the spells he was planning on using for each of the classes. It would be embarrassing if he went to teach something and couldn't make it work.

The bell rang, summoning him to dinner, and he slid his wand into its holster. He needed to get one that fit his arm better.

The teachers were clustered around the end of the Hufflepuff table closest to the door. Sam joined them, feeling a little self-conscious.

"Hello, Sam!" Flitwick squeaked excitedly, grinning at him. "Settle in all right?"

"Just fine," Sam said, smiling back.

"I don't believe you've met our Potions instructor, Horace Slughorn," McGonagall said.

"I saw you at the battle," Sam said.

"Did you?" Slughorn asked. "Where were you?"

"Sam led one of the grounds teams," McGonagall said.

"Well then," he said happily, reaching out to shake his hand.

This had very quickly become one of Sam's most hated scenarios. Either he reached out with his left hand, which was very rude, or he explained his right arm didn't work, which was humiliating.

"I - um - I actually can't use my right arm," Sam said awkwardly. "Spell hit it...magic could only do so much."

Slughorn slowly lowered his hand. "Well, then," he said after a beat. "It's nice to meet you anyway."

"You, too," Sam said, relief crashing over him that Slughorn hadn't made it a big deal or suggested he try something else. It really was astounding how many people thought they had the one piece of advice that had escaped every qualified Healer he'd seen.

"Everyone else already knows everyone," McGonagall said mildly, "so shall we eat?"

A plate of sandwiches and a bowl of spinach salad appeared. Sam waited until everyone else had served themselves to get some salad for himself. Dinner passed in a haze of everyone catching up on their summers, and then they dispersed to parts unknown. Sam returned to the Defense classroom, determined to figure out how he was going to introduce the subject. His first class was first- and second-year Hufflepuffs, which he mainly remembered for being either afraid of their own shadows or overbearingly arrogant.

McGonagall knocked on the doorframe half an hour after they'd separated. "Prepping the classroom?"

"Something like that," Sam admitted with a quiet huff of laughter.

"You weren't here for the summer staff meetings, so we need to go over a few things."

"Of course."

She dragged a chair up to the desk, sat, and placed a thick stack of parchment on the desk. Sam sat next to her so he could see them all.

"First things first. Last year, you weren't here, but most of the students _were_. Several of the former seventh-years are returning to complete their education. To accommodate them, we are placing them with the new seventh-years. The current second-years received no Defense instruction, so we combined them with the new first-years for your class.

"You should also be warned that last year, Defense Against the Dark Arts was renamed Dark Arts. The Carrows were not shy about using the Cruciatus Curse as a punishment. They will-"

"They did _what?_ " Sam half-yelled, brain ticking ahead to the damage he could inflict upon them with help from the Restricted Section and his training.

McGonagall continued as if he hadn't interrupted. "-be afraid of you. Plan accordingly.

"You already know how House points and detentions work. My advice to you is to choose a set amount of points to award for specific tasks - such as answering a question correctly - and apply it across the board. That will prevent accusations of favoritism."

McGonagall spoke to him for what felt like hours. After Sam settled down from his plans to find the living Death Eaters and kill them all slowly and painfully, he listened closely to every word - he'd suffered through too many terrible Defense teachers to want to be brought low by any of the common mistakes.

At last, she left, and Sam went to his own bed, more wearied than he would have guessed; if his body was telling him it was coming up on midnight, it must be nearing five in the morning, though McGonagall surely wouldn't have been up so late herself.

Still, he fell into bed wearily, and the next morning he did his normal morning run. He returned to the small bedroom, showered in the attached bath, and dressed in his khakis and an old T-shirt. He'd put on his robes later for the Opening Feast, of course, but it was a warm day and it was easier to put on less clothing than it was to cast repeated Cooling Charms with his left hand. Switching dominant hands was not as easy as he had hoped it would be in the first days after the battle, and his balance had been shot until he'd adjusted to being unable to use his right arm to compensate. Three months later, he was still occasionally brought low by unexpected obstacles.

He spent the morning after breakfast outside, in a patch of land next to the road to the main gates, creating something for his NEWT-level class and any of the younger years who wished to attend. He got a few interesting looks at lunch, but nobody commented.

The afternoon passed in a blur. The first thing he did was consult the OWL and NEWT standards and write up a basic pre-test to see how much he'd need to cover. Then he conjured some posters as a small joke, thinking that since his first class was made of first- and second-year Hufflepuffs, they might appreciate the levity. The older students would almost certainly start laughing at them, which was Sam's goal. It wouldn’t go well if everyone was afraid of him - even Snape had balanced the students' fear with honest concern where he could, though few outside Slytherin House had ever seen it.

 _Snape._ It had come out, at some point during the battle, that Snape had killed Dumbledore on the older man's orders, and later been killed by Voldemort himself. The man had been Sam's first mentor, in the first days of this new school and these new rules and possibilities. He'd made sure Sam was eating and made him potions to keep him at least somewhat stable. He had a mean streak, and he could be cruel; he wasn't a good man by any stretch of the imagination. But he'd been the first real authority figure to take him seriously and one of the first to not treat him like an expendable burden. Fuck, he'd saved Sam's _life_ a couple times. As with Lianne and Christina, no bond existed like the one forged by saving each other's skins a few times. Or a few dozen.

He tapped his wand on a parchment. That might make a good line for his first class.

Actually, it might be a good idea to write literally everything out. Just so he didn't forget it all the next morning, when he was staring down a group of wide-eyed first-years and second-years who expected to be tortured for answering a question wrong.

Writing out the speeches he _knew_ he'd deviate from in a heartbeat took until Flitwick appeared at his door and said, "It's time to come down for the feast."

"Thanks, Professor Flitwick," Sam said automatically.

"It's Filius now, remember," he said, leaving with a wink.

Sam grabbed his purple robe from the back of the chair and tugged it on, listening to the clinking medal. The design itself been altered, too, he hadn't realized until just now. They were much less billowy and far more practical for combat - even the sleeves had less room in them to get tripped up in.

He made it to the Great Hall and slid into a seat between Hagrid and Slughorn just before the first carriages pulled up. As the students filed in, he could tell who was a second- or third-year by the way they were shrunken in on themselves, like they were trying to avoid notice, and they went straight to their House tables. The older students smiled wanly at a few teachers, some curious eyes lingering on Sam, and he smiled at them. They turned away hastily.

It was the new and returning seventh-years he was most interested in. He'd had classes with the returning ones, of course, and he knew quite a few of the new ones. It would be interesting, how they reacted.

Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Terri - Kerri - _Perri_ , that was it, though he couldn't remember her last name - were the first of the new seventh-years to enter. They scanned the teachers' table, perhaps out of habit, and Ginny's mouth actually dropped open when she saw Sam. Sam snickered and waved. She shook her head and mouthed something at him, though he couldn't tell what.

Slughorn leaned over. "It's a bad idea to get too friendly with the students, dear boy."

Sam blinked. "The first time we met I killed a basilisk for her. Friendly's a little...insufficient."

"I must hear that story," Slughorn murmured, sounding intrigued.

"Oh, the Gryffindors don't look too happy to see me up here," Sam said absently as Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan entered the hall.

"Hermione an' Neville don' seem ter mind," Hagrid pointed out. Indeed, they were both beaming up at him until they sat at the Gryffindor table.

The rest of the students filed in, greeting people they hadn't seen in months, and it struck Sam, then, how _young_ they were, how very lucky they'd been last May, how lucky he himself had been to get all of the students assigned to him through the battle in one piece. To get through in one piece himself - he still remembered the student being torn apart in front of him, and he too slow to stop it.

Then the seventh- and eighth-year Slytherins came in, and they stopped, blocking the doorway. Sam waved, a little self-consciously. Blaise's mouth was hanging open; the others looked no less stunned. The crowd behind them shoved, and they stumbled forward to the Slytherin table.

When everyone was settled, Flitwick opened the middle doors to the Great Hall and led in a group of terrified-looking first-years. They stopped in front of the Sorting Hat, and Sam remembered, like it was yesterday, what the hat had said to him. _Hmm. Intelligent and cunning and brave, aren't you? A real need to prove yourself, isn't there? You don't care what it takes, you'll follow through to the end._

The Hat's brim opened and it started to sing. For the first time in his life, Sam actually listened to the song:

  
_Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin,_  
Are where you will find friends;  
For too long you've been divided  
And you crumbled from within. 

_You must branch out, you must make peace,_  
For your own sake, and for others';  
Rivalry has run its course,  
You must be sisters and brothers. 

_Gryffindor's for the daring,_  
The chivalrous, the brave,  
The stout of heart and courageous,  
The ones likely to misbehave. 

_Hufflepuff for the kind,_  
The hard workers, the loyal,  
Those happy to help others,  
The ones who enjoy toil. 

_Ravenclaw for the most clever,_  
They're good at solving riddles,  
Those knowledge-hungry students  
The ones whose thumbs don't twiddle. 

_And Slytherin, though much maligned,_  
Is for those with ambition,  
Those with cunning, those with smarts,  
Who will follow through a mission. 

_Four Houses, yes, four families,_  
But all must be together;  
Stand as one, or fall as four -  
Let not Houses be your tether. 

_I have sung this song for years untold,_  
Sorted everyone within;  
Do not worry, I am safe,  
Let the Sorting now begin! 

They clapped automatically, whispers breaking out across the Hall. Sam watched Gryffindors and Slytherins scowl at each other across the room, and his heart sank. So that was still going? He'd have to find a way to fix it.

"When I call your name," Flitwick said, "you will come forward to be Sorted. Alonso, Kevin!"

Kevin Alonso tripped forward. The Hat sat upon his head for barely a moment before it called, "Hufflepuff!"

And so it went, all the way to "Zabini, Marco!" Sam leaned forward in interest - he hadn't realized Blaise's little brother was old enough for Hogwarts, but yes, he'd been five their second year, so he was eleven in their eighth.

The Hat paused for the merest fraction of a second before screaming, "SLYTHERIN!" and Sam clapped, slapping his left hand against his thigh just as he had for everyone else, as he joined his older brother at the table.

McGonagall stood, and everyone fell silent. "I know you are all hungry," she said clearly. "I have just one announcement to make now, and several more after we have all eaten.

"We have had three staffing changes, as most of you have noticed. Sam Winchester has agreed to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" Sam half-stood and waved awkwardly with his left hand. "You older students, no spreading stories about him to the younger years," McGonagall added, to some laughter.

"We also have a new Transfiguration professor." Whispers broke out; she ignored them. "Professor Victor Issitudio."

A dark-haired man at the opposite end of the table stood and waved cheerfully.

"Professor Charity Burbage is no longer with us. Please welcome Delia Nint, the new Muggle Studies professor!

"And one more announcement before we begin our excellent feast. Professor Flitwick has been appointed as the Deputy Headmaster." Claps, cheers, and wolf-whistles greeted the announcement. "Everything else I have to say can wait until after we have all eaten."

She sat, and the plates filled with food.

Slughorn turned instantly to Sam. "So. What happened with the basilisk?"

Sam took a deep breath and dove into the story, which he'd now told so often it was almost rote. When he finished, Slughorn fired questions at him about it until dessert melted off the plates and McGonagall stood once more to give out start-of-term notices like when Quidditch would be starting. Sam listened, though he knew all of the information already.

"And finally," McGonagall said eventually, "the Forbidden Forest is, in fact, _forbidden._ Nobody is to enter without the presence of a teacher. Nobody is _especially_ to provoke the centaurs, the thestrals, the giant, the acromantulas, or any other species, is that clear?

"Now go on to bed. You have classes in the morning."

The school rose and left as one, chattering wildly - all except for the returning eighth-years and several of the new seventh-years, most of whom clumped together in a group. Draco, Goyle, Pansy, Millie, and Blaise stood off to the side.

Sam stood and approached them. "Hey," he said.

_Then_ he got the greeting he'd been expecting: as one, his friends threw themselves on top of him in a gigantic hug, and Sam overbalanced, fell, and landed very hard on his back.

"Sorry - sorry - get _off_ , Goyle-" Millie said, trying to stand.

Sam heard laughter, most of it muffled, from the staff table. He groaned quietly. "Always good to start a new job like this," he said quietly.

They finally sorted themselves out and stood. Theo offered him a hand up, but Sam would be forced to take it with his right hand, which was impossible for him now. He got up on his own and said, "So."

"So," Goyle repeated softly.

"What makes you the Defense professor, then?" Seamus demanded. "What makes you any different from us!"

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but McGonagall cut him off. He hadn't even realized she was close enough to hear. "Sam has passed Auror training with top honors. Top of his class, in fact. He is the most qualified Defense professor Hogwarts has had since Moody...who was, after all, replaced by a Death Eater.

"More importantly, Mr. Finnegan, Sam is here as a professor because I requested him specifically. He is the only person I know well enough to be sure he is far too competent to follow in the footsteps of Quirrell or Lockhart, and that he isn't evil enough to be another Umbridge, Snape, or Carrow. In _short_ , Mr. Finnegan, Sam is here because he is the best qualified for the job."

"You can't think that!" Seamus howled.

"I think so," Hermione said suddenly, coming to stand with the Slytherins.

"So do I," said Ginny, moving with her.

Silently, most of the others came to stand with them. Ernie, Justin, Terry, Lisa, Luna, Perri, other seventh-years Sam didn't know and all of the eighth-years but Seamus, Dean, and Sally-Anne Perks.

Sam cleared his throat. "Seamus," he said, "have you ever known Professor McGonagall to change her mind because you argued with her?"

Seamus's mouth opened and closed helplessly.

"Like it or not, I _have_ been hired as your Defense professor, and your Defense professor I will remain until either I prove incompetent or I die." He locked eyes with the other boy.

McGonagall broke the silence. "Is that all, Mr. Finnegan?"

"No," he said reluctantly. "I wanted to know how classes are going to work, with eight years."

"In most classes, you'll be paired with the new seventh-years," McGonagall said, "although the teachers whose classes you've already completed will be - er - _understanding_ if you tend to fall ill during only those periods. Keep in mind your NEWTs are this year. Any other questions?" Everyone shook their heads. "Then you should get to bed."

"See you later, Sam," Theo muttered, grinning at him. Sam smiled back weakly, not looking forward to Friday, when he would have all of these people in class.

"That could have gone worse," McGonagall muttered. "Keep in mind, won't you, that students are to call you 'Professor' during class and, at the _very_ least, around other faculty."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good night, Sam."

"Good night, Pr- Minerva," he corrected himself hastily.

She favored him with the tiniest of smiles as she swept by, on the way to her own bed.


	2. Chapter 2

His first class was combined first- and second-year Hufflepuffs, which meant he didn't get the roster until breakfast the next morning - until they were Sorted, students didn't have class schedules. He also got a letter from Emily:

 _Sam - I GOT THE JOB - Jess and I both, we're at St. Mungo's, she's on the Dangerous Bites floor and I'm at trauma. When's your next day off? We should meet up. I think you'd like Jess, now that you're conscious enough to hold a real conversation with her._ Then there was some kind of smiley face - was it sticking out its tongue? _Owl me back and let me know. You were right, quills are fucking hard to use. Everyone's treating us like idiots because we can't write well with them._

_I love you!  
Emily_

Sam answered on the back side of the parchment. _Emily - congratulations! I'd love to meet Jess. My next day off is October 17. Would you like to meet in Hogsmeade? It's the only all-magical village in Britain, and it's worth seeing at least once. We can go for dinner or drinks, if you'd like._

_I warned you. I WARNED you about the quills. Try a Dictation Charm until you get used to them._

_Love you too,  
Sam_

He stuck it back on her owl, which had successfully eaten all of his bacon while he'd been distracted. It flew off. Minutes later, he gave up on eating and went to the Defense classroom instead. It wasn't until he sat at the front desk that doubt really started crashing in on him.

Why had he _ever_ thought this was a good idea? He still _remembered_ his first Defense class, with Quirrell stuttering through an introduction and a transparent story about his turban being a gift from an "African prince". He'd declined to name either the prince or the people he was prince _of._ Lockhart had been an idiot, Moody had been a Death Eater, Umbridge was sadistic. Lupin had been the only good Defense professor he'd ever had at this school.

The bell rang, dismissing students from breakfast, and Sam took a deep breath. He could do this. He _could._

Kids started wandering in, and he arranged his face in what he _hoped_ was a welcoming smile. When the desks were all full, he cleared his throat and stood. "Good morning, everyone," he said cheerfully. "You'd be my first- and second-year Hufflepuffs, then? Gr- yes?"

One of the girls in the second row had her hand up already. "Why do you talk like that?" she asked.

Sam laughed. "I'm American, born and raised. Came to Hogwarts when I was your age, went back to America for my last year, finished out Law Academy - that's like Auror training, or police academy - and now I'm here."

"Why'd you go back?"

"Ah-" Sam hesitated, then took a deep breath. Everyone fourth year and up knew this story, anyway. "I had a very sadistic Defense professor," he said. "I still have the scars from her - a lot of the upper-year students do, too. Umbridge, her name was." There was a squeak of fear. "She ended up head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Anyway, she took over the school and pushed through an expulsion. I got sent back to my homeland, came back for the two battles fought here, and now I'm here as a teacher. If there are any other questions, can you hold them until the end of class, please? Some of them will probably be answered as I go through today's lesson."

He waited until he saw a few people nod to say, "Excellent! We'll start with role call, then. Olivia Argent?"

"Here!" a girl with dark hair said happily.

Sam went through; everyone was here. When he was done, he put the ledger back on the desk and sat next to it. "Now. I know about half of you were here last year, when the Carrows were in charge." He couldn't keep the contempt from his voice. "I will _never_ hurt you. I will not use spells as punishment. I will _especially_ not make you cast them _on each other_ as punishment. The _only_ time you will face spells in this class is when you're learning how to shield yourselves, and those will be very mild Stinging Hexes. Corporal punishment is the most ridiculous way of teaching I've ever suffered through, and I'm not going to make you suffer the same.

"The first three years of your education, we're going to be doing basic Defense work. This year will be focused entirely on shields and light hexes, jinxes - things that won't hurt somebody if it gets through a shield. Your second year will be more advanced hexes and jinxes, and your third year will involve curses and creatures that are annoyances. In your fourth year, we'll begin one-on-one dueling, and in fifth year you'll learn the Patronus Charm, dangerous creatures, and how to fight in groups. If you continue on to NEWT Defense, which I hope you will, your sixth year will focus on advanced shielding, hexing, and dueling techniques, and in your seventh year you will be divided into groups of mixed ability and fighting each other just as you would in a real battle, learning to defend yourself against various creatures, and working on agility."

"You're planning on staying, then?" a boy piped up. "I heard Defense professors don't last long."

Sam half-laughed. "There is that. For at least the last seven years, the Defense professor has only stuck around for a year at most. My second year, Lockhart - yes, _that_ Lockhart - took off in March instead of fighting the basilisk. And yes, I'll tell you that story sometime this year.

"Now. You all know, or have at least heard, that we recently fought a very costly war. Can anyone tell me what it was about? Don't raise your hand, just shout it out."

"Blood purity," six or seven of them chorused.

"Good. Now, do you know _why_ so many people followed Lord Voldemort?" Screams, squawks, and flinches met the name. "All right, you guys," Sam said, chuckling a little. "He's dead now. He can't hurt you. I _will_ be saying the name. Regularly.

"Actually, I have two questions with the same answer. So here we go. Why did so many people follow Voldemort" - Sam ignored the reaction this time - "and why did this country fall so easily? Anyone?"

The kids were looking around at each other uneasily, trying to guess, and Sam said, "Going once. Going twice. Ready for the answer?" He waited until they all had their eyes on him to say, "It's because you're so divided. In Hogwarts, it's by House. Show of hands, how many of you have friends outside Hufflepuff?" A few of the second-years raised their hands. "How many of you have friends in Slytherin?"

"Slytherin's _evil!_ " one of the girls - Sally Donovan, if he remembered correctly - burst out. "They're all Dark, they're all Death Eaters!"

"Really?" Sam asked mildly. "I didn't know Voldemort accepted eleven-year-olds into his army. And - for what it's worth - _I_ was a Slytherin, when I attended school here. All it means is that you have ambition and you're able to see complicated things in their purest form." Sally blushed. "I want you to imagine something. I want you to imagine that you learn you're magical, and that you're going to magic school, and this whole new world exists, and you can't wait. Muggle-borns, you all know _exactly_ what I'm describing, we all went through the same thing. So you get here, you're excited, and the Hat calls out Slytherin. You're thrilled. You get that green trim on your robes...and suddenly, everyone but other Slytherins is treating you like crap. You get jinxed in the hallway by older students. You get tripped by people your own age. You get blamed for everything that goes wrong.

"Christmas comes, and you're the only Slytherin to stay for break. You try to sit with people in another house, because you don't want to be alone. You get shoved away and laughed at. And it keeps happening, for years and years, the entire school turned against you.

" _This_ is what drives so many people away from the rest of the school. The casual cruelty. If we want to do better, if we want to _be_ better, we have to branch out. We need to befriend people in other Houses. People didn't join Voldemort because they were evil. People joined Voldemort because they were hurting and they wanted to hurt back. Slytherins, in particular, joined Voldemort because so many people turned against them they had no reason to try to save them, and Voldemort promised or tortured or cursed them into submission.

"So your homework, for today, is to talk to someone outside your House," he said. "No, class isn't over yet. We're not even thirty minutes in. You're not the only class getting this lecture, by the way. I'm going to tell every single class this until everyone has heard it." He looked at them all. "I'm not asking for you to become instant friends with Slytherins. I'm asking you to be open to the _possibility_ that not all Slytherins are evil, and that some of them actually did stay to fight Voldemort last year. Vincent Crabbe _died_ for the cause. And remember, these people were fighting their _parents._ Could you fight an army your parents were part of?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Okay. Now that the philosophy part of Defense class is over" - there were a few titters - "let's get to work on actual shielding." He stood and tapped the board, and the theory behind the _Protego_ spell appeared. "This is the most basic shield that exists…."

He lectured for forty minutes more, and the last twenty minutes were spent trying to produce the shield. Sam pushed the desks to the side so everyone would have room to work.

Unsurprisingly, most of the second-years already knew the spell. What _did_ surprise him was how willing they were to help the ones who didn't quite get it. Between the seven students and Sam himself, half the first-years were able to produce a shield by the end of the lesson. When the bell rang, he straightened up and called, "Remember - talk to someone outside your House - if you didn't get the Shield Charm yet, practice in your common room!"

Sam returned the desks to their normal positions and switched out the roster of his first class for the roster of his second. Third-year Slytherins and Gryffindors - this would be interesting.

Sure enough, when everyone had settled, the Gryffindors were on one side of the room, the Slytherins another. Sam stood. "Good morning, everyone! My name is Sam Winchester, and I'm going to be your Defense professor this year. Let's start with role call. Hera Alder!"

When he'd finished role call, the outline of the next five years of their Defense education, and the speech about making friends _outside_ their own House, he said, "Show of hands, who can perform a Shield Charm?"

Every single hand in the room went up.

"Excellent!" Sam said brightly. "Then we can start on curses. Who can tell me what makes a curse distinct from hexes or jinxes? Yes - uh - Greenley?"

"Greenleaf," the girl corrected.

"Sorry. Yes, Miss Greenleaf."

She fiddled with her necklace, a small silver heart, as she answered, "A curse requires more force of will to cast."

"Partially right. Five points to Slytherin. Can anyone fill in what she missed? Niten?"

"Curses need an intent to harm, while hexes and jinxes don't."

"Right, that's the other half, five points to Gryffindor. We're going to start with simple curses some of you already know - which is why I made sure you all knew your Shield Charms. Pair up, _not_ with someone of your own house, and watch the desks - I'm going to push them against the wall."

When the crowd finally finished pairing off, Gryffindor to Slytherin, Sam said, "All right. I want you to face your partner. Gryffindors cast first - Stinging Hex _only_ , Slytherins raise a shield, I need to see if your shields are up to par. Then switch, Slytherins hexing Gryffindors. All right? Whenever you're ready."

The room filled with cries of _"Ictus!"_ and _"Protego!"_ A few people cried, "Ow!" Then once more, and then they turned to face Sam once more.

"Show of hands, how many pairs had at least one person whose shield couldn't stand up to a Stinging Hex?"

Five of the eight pairs raised their hands.

Sam nodded. "Okay then! Shield review. Keep switching off blocking and Stinging - if anyone uses _any other spell_ they will lose twenty house points. If you lie about your partner using a different spell, you will lose thirty points. Go!"

The next hour was spent with Sam wandering around through them, blocking often when somebody missed. He needed to do target practice with them, he realized, and sent a quick spell at the blackboard to add to the list. Five minutes before the end of the period, everyone was reliably producing shields that held up to the hex and Sam called a halt.

"Great job, everyone!" he said cheerfully. "Now, I want you and your partner to write your names on a piece of parchment and bring it up." He waited until he had them all to say, "These will be your partners for the rest of the year. I want you to write a paper over the weekend on a different Shield Charm you'd like to know and three curses you each want to learn. It's fine if they overlap, but no less than four different curses. I don't care about length - they can be bullet points, and frankly, I'd prefer that. I want the names of the spells you choose and their intended effects. No Unforgivables. One paper per pair."

The bell rang just as he finished, calling them all to lunch, and Sam busied himself righting the classroom and marking down the teams everyone had chosen on his roster.

Then he considered. He had an hour in which to experiment, after all, and so he could take his time with the target-practice idea.

The first thing he did was conjure a round white circle. Then he used Contained Color-Change Charms to mark rings and a bullseye, and then he duplicated the circles until he had twenty of them to hang on the wall. He spent the rest of the lunch hour experimenting with other spells to get them to keep score, and had just figured it out when the bell rang. His fourth-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were coming. This was also the first group he'd have that might remember him when he was a student - their first year had been during Umbridge's reign.

When they'd all come in, Sam took role and went over the basics of the next four years they'd spend in his class before diving into the Unity-Is-Key speech he'd already given twice.

"Now," he said when he'd finished, "as I told you earlier, we're going to be working on dueling this year. Show of hands, who can do a basic Shield Charm?" Every hand went up. "Great! Does everyone know a Stinging Hex?" Nods all around. "I want you to pair up with somebody _not_ from your house. Watch the desks while you do this, I'm going to be moving them."

When they were paired off in the open space, Sam said, "Okay, now Hufflepuffs cast the Stinging Hex while Ravenclaws block, and then Ravenclaws cast while Hufflepuffs block. Whenever you're ready."

The biggest difference between the fourth-years and the third-years he'd done this with earlier was that everybody in this room actually _did_ know how to block properly.

"All right," Sam said, "show of hands, how many pairs had somebody miss them at first? Nobody? Good. We can get right to it, then. You see this rectangle on the floor here? Gather round, let me explain traditional dueling."

Sam paced while he talked, walking from one end of the dueling arena to the other. "This is not something you'll be tested on," he began, and started talking.

Near the end, he said, "In this class, we'll begin with a Students' Duel. Does anyone know what that is? Yes, Miss - uh, hang on, I know this - Finkle?"

"Right," she said. "It means the duelers only cast Stunners or Stinging Hexes, and points are awarded for accuracy as well as shielding."

"Good, five points for Hufflepuff. You all see the targets on the walls?" He went to grab his wand from his pocket, and almost hit his knees: he'd gone for it with his right hand, twisting the arm in ways it no longer twisted.

"Are you okay, Professor?"

"Oh - yes - yes, I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile. "Just not quite used to this arm being useless yet. A word of advice to all of you - learn to cast with your non-dominant hand. It'll make situations like this easier to handle. Um, where was I?"

"The targets," Finkle said promptly.

"Thanks again. Anyway, what I was _trying_ to do" - he picked up his wand properly this time - "is to show you how to use them." He fired a Stinging Hex, and it hit the wall next to the circle. "No hit is, obviously, worth zero." He adjusted slightly and fired once more - it hit the outer ring, and a glowing orange '4' appeared. He worked his way in as he talked. "The outside is worth four points, the inside ring worth eight, and a bullseye is worth twelve. If you hit dead center" - he fired a fifth and final time - "as I apparently _can't_ from this distance casting wrong-handed, you'll receive twenty points. By the end of the year, I'd like for you all to be able to reach at least fifty points in ten shots from ten of _my_ paces away. That's going to be a third of your final exam grade - accuracy can save a life. This room will be open whenever I'm in here, so you can practice outside of class.

"Are there any questions?"

"What are the other two-thirds?"

"One-third will be theory behind the spells you'll learn this year, a sixth will be general dueling knowledge, and a sixth will be a practical dueling exam based on how long you're able to last in a Students' Duel with me. If you manage to knock me out, it's a bonus twenty points." That was in one of the lesson plans he'd sent McGonagall over the summer. "Any others?"

Nobody raised their hands, and he said, "All right, then. I want you and your dueling partner to write your names on the piece of parchment on my desk, in the column marked '4HR'. When you're done, have a seat." While they did that, Sam waved the desks back into place. "These will be your partners for the year," he said when they'd all been seated. "We don't meet again until Monday, so you have a nice long time to get the first bit of homework done. I want you to write three of your strengths and three of your weaknesses when it comes to fighting. Then I want you and your partner to get together and choose a total of six spells, offensive or defensive, you'd like to learn this year. Bullet points are fine for all of this. No minimum length. We'll try to get through all the ones you come up with this year, starting with the most requested first.

"Are there any questions about _that?_ " Nobody raised their hands, and Sam said, "All right, then. Everyone pick a target and a distance - feel free to move the desks - and start working on your accuracy. It's too close to the end of class to start anything new. If y'all need anything, even if it's just advice on aiming, raise your hand and I'll come around."

There was a rustle of clothing and the crunching sound of desks sliding against the stone floor as everyone got themselves where they wanted to be. Most of the targets were throwing up scores in the thirties and forties, which was good. Most of the students were less than ten paces away, which wasn't ideal, but it would at least be a starting point. He scribbled himself a clumsy note: _Ten paces from targets line on floor_.

The bell rang when most of the class was finishing their second set of ten. They gathered their bags and left, chattering excitedly.

His fifth-year Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class went much the same, except he started with the test to tell him what they had and hadn't covered in terms of the OWL. When they were finished, he started them on learning the Patronus Charm instead of dueling. "This is an incredibly complex charm with an incredibly simple wand movement and incantation," he began. "Used to repel dementors, there are many adult wizards who have failed to master the Patronus - though, I suspect, that's more due to lack of trying than anything else. You are all aware, now, of how incredibly awful dementors truly are." Nods all around. "Does anyone already know the incantation? Mister Barnes?"

James Barnes said, " _Expecto patronum._ "

"Exactly, five points to Ravenclaw. When done properly, the Patronus Charm generates an animal made entirely of good memories. It's not affected by dementors, as people are, and so it can attack without fear of failure." He took a moment to fix Lianne and Christina in his mind, and then said, " _Expecto Patronum._ "

A rabbiting swell of lilac pushed out of his chest down his left arm and a silver wolverine burst forth from his wand to gambol around the room, hopping around the exterior.

"The guardian animal is dependent entirely on the caster," Sam continued. "I want you all to say the incantation, just to make sure you've got the pronunciation, and then we'll all start trying to cast it."

 _"Expecto patronum,"_ came the ragged response, some people tripping over the words, some stuttering, some putting the emphasis in the wrong place.

"That's all right," Sam said kindly. "Try again, and line up against that wall while I move the desks so we have a clear space to work."

The students kept muttering, some of them taking out their wands and trying to cast already as they moved en masse to the wall at the right of the classroom. Sam's wolverine kept racing about; it didn't take much out of him to keep the spell going, even while he was distracted.

When the desks were clear, he called, "All right! Everyone think of your happiest memory, or a family member you love - I would _not_ advise choosing a girlfriend or boyfriend, because if you break up it will affect your Patronus."

"What do you think of?" one of the girls piped up.

"I think of the women who basically adopted me after I moved over here," Sam answered. "Take your time to think of something happy. When you're ready, try to cast, but don't worry if you can't do it. It can take months to learn this spell."

"How long did it take you?"

"Oh, man, lemme think," Sam said. "That was...I started trying in January and didn't manage it until June, so about" - he counted on his fingers, muttering the months under his breath - "six months."

"Six months?" someone blurted out, dismayed.

Sam chuckled. "Relax. We're not going to be doing this every class period. Every few weeks we'll take some time to work on it, and if you want to work on it outside of class, you're welcome to do that, too. I'll probably be in this room most of the time, and you're welcome to come in whenever the door's open. Keep in mind, though, that the Patronus Charm is worth a few bonus points on your OWLs. That's why I wanted to start it today, so you'd all have time to practice it. Everyone got their happy memory?"

A few people nodded; most looked doubtful but raised their wands anyway. "Remember, don't worry if nothing happens. Harry and I were ecstatic when we got mist." He left out that they'd been in the same room as a boggart-dementor; there was no reason to share that fact. "Cast whenever you're ready," he said, hopping up to sit on his desk.

" _Expecto patronum_ ," three-quarters of the class shouted, to no effect.

"That's all right, keep trying," Sam said, keeping one eye on the clock while his mind ticked forward to the next problem. There were seventeen people in the class, which couldn't be evenly divided at all. One group would have to have five.

"I got mist!" someone yelled excitedly ten minutes later. "Look - _expecto patronum!_ " A burst of silver mist appeared and hovered in front of Barnes, fading after a few seconds.

"Good job!" Sam called, restraining his impulse to give points to Ravenclaw. "Try to hold it a little longer next time, and eventually it'll make an animal."

Ten minutes before the end, Sam called a halt. "That was a really good start, everyone!" he said cheerfully. "Right now, I want you get into three groups of four and a group of five. Two Hufflepuffs and two Ravenclaws each." When they'd assembled, he continued, "These will be your dueling groups. I want you to come up and write your names in one of the boxes under '5RH' on this piece of parchment" - he tapped where it was sitting on his desk - "before you leave. Your homework for today will be to write, in bullet points, three of your strengths and weaknesses in dueling, three ways in which dueling in a group is helpful, and three combat spells, either offensive or defensive, you'd like to learn this year. Once you've written your names down, go ahead and pack up."


	3. Chapter 3

Thursday's classes - first- and second-year Slytherins, third-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, fourth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins, and fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins - passed in much the same way. A few questions changed, but not many. The Gryffindors and Slytherins weren't happy about being paired with each other, but they'd get over it. The Slytherins remembered him from when he'd been a student and treated him with the same reverence they'd once treated Snape (and were now, presumably, treating Slughorn), and the Gryffindors weren't stupid enough to pick a fight with a professor over who they got paired with.

It was Friday's classes Sam was most worried about. His sixth-years had a double period in the morning, the seventh- and eighth-years in the afternoon; all the houses were mixed in the NEWT classes, and that was what Sam was most worried about. They'd had the most time out of any of the years to nurture resentment.

And that was why, at the very beginning of his sixth-year class, Sam cleared his throat after he took role and said, "Let me make this very plain. I know that some people in this room fought in opposite sides of the last war. I know none of the houses are blameless when it comes to cruelty, bullying, jinxing, hexing, or otherwise being jerks.

"You _will_ be fighting in mixed groups this year. You _will_ be matched with people from other houses. If you do anything to hurt somebody on your own team, inside or outside of class, you will serve detention. If you use a non-approved spell on anybody, you will lose thirty house points and serve a week with Mr. Filch. I will not tolerate you acting out on previous disagreements. You are now NEWT students, and I expect you to behave with the maturity of young adults-"

"Just us, or the Slytherins too?" somebody yelled.

Sam's eyes locked onto the Gryffindor boy's. "Everybody," he repeated. "In every house. The only allowed offensive spells during duels, at this point in time, are Stunning Spells and Stinging Hexes. As we move on, more will be allowed. We will be covering advanced shields and hexes this year, and next year will be open battle, agility training, and creature defense.

"Now, I'm going to call out names. These will be your groups for the year. Please take note of who you're with, and when I'm finished, I want you all to rearrange yourselves so that you're sitting in those groups."

He worked his way through the roster, putting them in groups of four with one person from each house. There were two groups of five, one with an extra Hufflepuff and one with an extra Gryffindor.

"Move," he said when he'd finished calling out names, and for two or three minutes, they ran around like chickens with their heads cut off before settling down into their groups.

"Good," Sam said. "Now, who knows more than one shielding charm?"

When class was over, five different people stayed after to talk to him. Sam's stomach was telling him in no uncertain terms he should eat - he'd skipped breakfast to plan out how to begin each of his classes - but he shouldn't go to lunch until he'd talked with them all.

First up to his desk was a Gryffindor named Frank Devereaux. "Professor, why are you splitting us up?"

"Because you need to learn how to work with people you dislike," Sam said patiently. "And you need to learn that Slytherins - which I'm assuming is your main problem with the groups, correct me if I'm wrong - are not evil."

"But they are!"

"Really? And what defines evil?"

"They all supported You-Know-Who!"

"I'm a Slytherin, and I lost the use of my right arm fighting the Death Eaters. Some of my friends in Slytherin fought their own parents to protect you. Vincent Crabbe, who was only a year older than you are now, lost his life fighting for this school. I know for a fact that some of the Slytherins who left with the younger years helped to ward the buildings they hid in against Voldemort's supporters." Sam leaned back in his chair. "So tell me again, how are Slytherins evil?"

Devereaux spluttered. "But - but - of course you'd say that! You're a Slytherin!"

"Clever," Sam said calmly. "If you can dismiss my viewpoint because I'm a Slytherin - if you can, in fact, dismiss the view of _anyone_ who is in Slytherin - all you are left with is people who share your views. You refuse to listen to anyone who disagrees. Do you see the flaw in this?"

Devereaux deflated. "They're still evil," he muttered.

"Don't tell them that," Sam warned. "If you still feel like every single Slytherin is evil at the end of this year, fine. But remember that you're calling Professor Slughorn, who dueled Voldemort himself in the final battle, evil. And remember that you are calling _me_ evil. Is there anything else?"

"...No," he muttered.

"Go ahead to lunch, then. It might be worth it to ask some of the returning seventh-years _their_ views on Slytherins. Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley were both friends of mine at one point, though I'm afraid we lost touch recently."

Next came a boy and a girl wanting to know if he'd _really_ been raised a hunter, then a Ravenclaw whose anxiety reminded him of Hermione in their third year wanting to know if he was going to mark points off if they didn't get along with their group. The fifth had apparently just been waiting for her, because they left together. Sam organized his desk as best he could and left for the Great Hall.

"Nervous about this afternoon?" Flitwick asked him when he sat down.

"A little," Sam admitted. "Half the people are older than I am."

"You'll do fine," Flitwick promised.

McGonagall had apparently heard, because she leaned behind Sinistra to tell him over Flitwick's head, "After last night, I'd say you have enough supporters to drown out the naysayers. Just remember that you're in charge and you'll be fine."

"Thanks," Sam said awkwardly.

McGonagall smiled at him and went back to her plate. Sam left fifteen minutes before lunch technically ended.

The eighth-year Slytherins left then, too, and they were joined by Ginny, Hermione, Ernie, Justin, and most of the others Sam had spent time with.

"So," Sam said cheerfully, "how were y'all's summers?"

"Nope," Blaise said. "We get to ask first. You've been gone for two years. Anything good happen in America?"

Sam groaned. "Would you believe the Halloween Curse made it to Salem, too?"

"No," Millie said in disbelief.

"Halloween Curse?" Neville asked blankly.

"It's what we started calling it," Pansy explained. "Every Halloween something bad happens."

"There was the troll, the basilisk, Sirius attacking you common room, Harry's name coming out of the Goblet - um, what happened fifth year?"

"The DA had its first meeting and Umbridge banned clubs," Hermione said promptly.

"Right. And then sixth year - if you can believe it - Salem got attacked by blood purists and dementors."

"No," Ernie said disbelievingly.

"Wait, I remember Fred and George saying something about that," Hermione said.

"Yeah. I called 'em over. S'why they called me for the battles here. So what happened here on Halloween sixth year?"

They all appeared to consider a moment. "Nothing," Lisa Turpin said finally.

Sam groaned. "So it's _me_ that's got the Halloween curse?"

"Well, did something happen your seventh year on Halloween?" Theo asked reasonably.

"I got sick with Influenza Chi," Sam said glumly. "All the Muggle-borns in the school did. I was unconscious for two weeks. I still haven't got back the weight I lost."

"You've always been skinny anyway," Draco said uncaringly.

"So you find a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?" Blaise asked.

"Girlfriend, yeah. Emily Raticker. She got a job at Mungo's, moved to London with a friend of hers. We're meeting my next day off."

"How long?" Ginny asked.

"February of sixth year, so...year and a half, actually," Sam said as they reached the door of the Defense classroom. "What about you all, got anything special happening?"

"Draco and I are dating," Pansy said.

"Ron and Hermione," Ginny added, smirking at the older girl.

"Really," Sam said, amused. "Saw that one coming a mile away."

"We all did," Ernie said. "And Neville's with Luna Lovegood."

"Awesome," Sam said, hopping up on his desk and looking at them all with a critical eye. They all showed signs of the previous year: lost weight, crow's eyes, strain that hadn't quite gone away. Neville had two long scars on either side of his face, just old enough to no longer be puffy. Fine scars marked Ginny's arms and hands. The others showed other scars, and Terry Boot was favoring his right leg. "So what else is new?"

They started talking, then, and Sam built up a picture of a group of teenagers set suddenly free from the strain of war, how they'd gone from fighting for their lives to being expected to laze around. Some of them, like Lavender and Parvati, had embraced their new freedom and wreaked good-hearted havoc on their neighborhoods. Others, like Hermione and Ginny, had turned inwards instead, focusing on rebuilding relationships and themselves. Theo and Millie, the two who had stayed to fight, had been disowned by their Death Eater families and been forced to camp all summer.

There was nothing there, Sam realized when he looked at his former crushes. In the years since he'd last seen them, the feelings he'd once had had evaporated.

The room filled up, slowly but steadily, with nearly all of the seventh- and eighth-years in Hogwarts. Every single one of them knew Sam; they'd all seen him seizing or bleeding when he'd had visions - which, he realized with a jolt, had slowed to a trickle when he was awake, almost a complete halt.

Sam marked everyone off as they came in. When the bell rang, he called, "All right, everyone, if you can find your seats?"

When they were settled in, Sam said, "All right, first things first. I don't give a shit what you call me in this room, but when we're around the professors it's gotta be the last name. Otherwise McGonagall will get on all of us." Half the room started laughing.

"Great! So this is your last year here. Everyone's gearing up to take NEWTs. I know as well as any of you how fragmented the last few years have been, so today's going to start off with a practice quiz so I know what you've already been taught and what you need to learn. It's not long." He flicked his wand, and the papers soared across to everyone's desks. "When you're done, bring it up. I'll have them marked by next class. And don't worry, these won't count for your grade."

He pulled out the OWL test he'd had his fifth-years take while they worked. He'd finished all of the Ravenclaws' and Hufflepuffs', but only about half of the Slytherins' and Gryffindors'. He'd made notes to himself of the topics most in need of coverage on a separate sheet of paper.

Unsurprisingly, Hermione was the first done, followed quickly by Ernie, Terry, Lisa, and Justin. It took the class at large close to forty-five minutes to finish, and when Hannah Abbott finally handed hers in, he finished marking the third-to-last page of the second-to-last test before he stood.

"Before we begin in earnest," he said, "I want to ask you all something. How many of you fought in the battle last May?"

All of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs raised their hands; three Ravenclaws, Millie, and Theo raised theirs. "Look around you," Sam said. "The same number of Ravenclaws and Slytherins stayed-"

"They've only got two hands up," Seamus said indignantly.

"Crabbe was killed," Sam said flatly. "Millie, Theo, and Crabbe all stayed to help. Lisa, Terry, and Padma also stayed. All of the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors remained. Now, put your hands down if you knew there was no chance of facing a family member in Voldemort's ranks."

The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws dropped their hands instantly. Millie and Theo kept them up, gazes steady on Sam's face, trusting that he knew what they were doing. A Hufflepuff's hand was also raised.

"Thank you," Sam said. "Now. Seamus, since you're the most outspoken against Slytherin. Imagine if you stayed to fight, knowing that you might come across your mother and father out there. Imagine recognizing half of Voldemort's army. You've eaten with them, you've drunk with them, you've lived with them. You recognize their shoes. And there's a fair chance you're going to kill them. _Now_ do you understand why so few Slytherins stayed to fight?"

Seamus muttered something.

"Sally-Anne," Sam said, zeroing in on the Hufflepuff, "why did you stay, knowing you'd face your family?"

"Because I couldn't keep pretending I agreed with my parents," she said. "I wanted to protect my friends."

"Millie? Theo?"

They looked at each other and shrugged. "They attacked a school," Theo said. "That's just not _done_."

"They used the Cruciatus on first-years," Millie said grimly. "Anything I might've - I can't forgive them for that."

"And Seamus? Why did you fight?"

"Because they're scum and they needed to die," he said promptly.

"Oh! So we have someone fighting to protect her friends, two others fighting to protect and avenge students, and somebody fighting because his opponents 'needed to die'. Which of those reasons sounds darkest to you all?"

They all shifted and muttered, but nobody said anything out loud.

"This is why Voldemort got so many followers," Sam said grimly. "It's because the entire school decided that Slytherins were evil, so they started treating eleven-year-olds like they were. And it has to stop, or the next Voldemort will have just as many followers. So all of you, stop treating each other like pariahs.

"And to help with that, I'm doing what I've done with every other class I've had. I'm going to call out your names, and these will be your groups for the year. You will fight together - yes, fight, we're dueling in groups this year - you can do your homework together, you can do your tests together." A considerable number of people perked up. "These groups will not change, understand? They're for the entire year."

There were fifty-two students in this particular class, and Sam divided them up into groups of thirteen. He'd done his best to keep the Houses equal, and he'd succeeded, for the most part.

"Later on in the year," Sam said when they'd all rearranged themselves, "we're going to be doing mock battles. One of the biggest problems in the last war was that we were all fighting individually, not as a team, not as an army. You need to learn how to fight in large groups. Right now the only place I have is the front lawn - I've been looking for others, but there aren't many places here large enough to hold us all-"

"What about the Room of Requirement?" Ginny interrupted.

"Sorry, the what?" Sam asked, looking at her.

"The Room of Requirement," Ginny repeated. "It turns into anything you need."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Useful. Where is it?"

"The seventh floor," Ginny said. "I can show you later?"

"Great, thanks. So as I was saying, group battle is different than individual battle. You can have one person casting shields while the others are spelling, just as an example. There's a huge amount of trust involved in real battle - which you all know by now.

"But this isn't real battle. When we begin, you may not use anything permanently damaging. Stunning Spells and minor hexes are allowed.

"On a different note, I have something planned outside. Your homework this week will be to write down three of your strengths and three of your weaknesses in dueling, and then give five spells you'd like to learn this year. _Please_ don't use complete sentences, bullet points are fine. Now if you'll pack up?"

Everyone followed him outside to the road, where the course he'd set up the morning of September first waited. "This," he called, "is the obstacle course used at Law Academy, which is theAmerican equivalent of the Auror training program. Hurdles, low crawl, climbing obstacles, weaving bars, tire run, toothed beams, and a balance beam."

"You ever do it?" somebodyasked.

"Nearly every day for fourteen months," Sam said. "Now, what's special about this is that if you hit a support beam or fall off a climbing obstacle, the ground will turn red. By the end of the year, ten red spots will constitute a failure. Five will be an E. No mistakes at all is worth ten bonus points."

"How many mistakes do you make?" Dean asked.

"Before my arm got hit, I could get through it without hitting anything," Sam told him. His Animagus form had failed at the low-crawl, of course; his head was too big to fit underneath. Even so, he'd done well enough at the others to pass. "Afterwards, the first time I screwed everything up, but by the end of August I was down to five mistakes or so. And there, that's failing - they passed me with the scores I'd gotten before I got hurt, since they knew I'd never go into the field anyway." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. A year of effort, wasted because he'd thought to distract Voldemort from his old professors and forgotten to keep up a shield. A life he'd been training for since before he'd known, dominoes carefully set up since he was a small child, knocked down in a moment of carelessness.

"But," he said, forcing his thoughts away. "That's neither here not there. Who'd like to run first?"

A moment of silence, and then Ginny Weasley pushed her way to the front and said, "I'll go."

"Whenever you're ready, then," Sam said, stepping back out of her way.

Unsurprisingly, every single one of them failed the course. He sent them in for dinner after a reminder of their homework and trudged in himself.

Ginny, Hermione, and Neville met him in the Great Hall after dinner to lead him up to the seventh floor and the Room of Requirement. They pressed Sam for stories as they climbed, and Sam ended up telling them about AMBL's attack on Salem his sixth year.

"Here we are," Neville said, stopping just across from a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to do ballet. "And then just-" He walked back and forth three times, and a door appeared. He opened it and led them in to a comfortable-looking room.

"It can create anything," Ginny said.

"Really," Sam said, mind whirling. "So if I wanted, say, a forest-"

"Probably," Ginny said. "I don’t know anyone's tried anything that big before, though."

"I'll have to experiment," Sam said, mind whirling with possibilities. "Can it create broomsticks?"

"Yep," Neville said. "Can't take them out of the room, but they work in here."

"Hmm," Sam murmured, already creating plans.


	4. Chapter 4

September flew by. The last weekend was a Hogsmeade trip, and McGonagall, concerned about the remaining Death Eaters, sent teachers along. She herself had to stay, but Flitwick, Sam, Slughorn, Sinistra, Sprout, and Vector all joined the students. Sam stationed himself outside the Three Broomsticks and contented himself with watching the passersby. A few students came up to speak with him, breaking the monotony a little bit, but Sam kept an eye on his surroundings even while talking to them.

The day passed amenably, and then they trudged up to the castle with the students.

That Friday was the first of the mock-battles for his seventh- and eighth-years. Sam had told them all to meet at the Room of Requirement the week before, and he was inside when they made it there. For today, the room was set up like ancient ruins, with lots of cover and plenty of vantage points.

When everyone was inside, Sam said, "Remember, everyone - nothing that will cause serious harm. If you curse somebody on your own team, your house will lose thirty points and you will serve a week's detention. Purposefully causing serious harm will result in a loss of fifty points and a month's detention. This is _not_ real battle, and you are _not_ to fight to the death.

"Go ahead and split up into your groups. Begin when I blow the whistle." He rose into the air to wait for them all to separate out.

They didn't disappoint, dashing in four different directions to take cover. He waited until they'd all stopped moving to blow his whistle and start the fight.

It was less chaotic than Sam might have imagined. These were blooded soldiers, all of them, yet they fought like children. They fought with precision and shields, trading off who cast, taking caution, not daring anything new. But worst of all, they fought alone, sometimes stumbling into their teammates, sometimes running headlong into a group of their enemies.

It took twenty minutes for fifty of them to be stunned, and Millie and Theo stood victorious before they faced each other for the final duel that would decide which of their teams won. They fought each other just as carefully as they'd fought the others while Sam touched down and began reviving those who had been Stunned and freeing those who had been trussed like turkeys. He'd need a blackboard, he realized as he worked.

Theo shrieked a victory cry as Millie fell.

"Good," Sam called absently. "Start waking people up."

When they were all assembled, Sam said, "Can anyone guess what your biggest problem was?"

"Blocking!" somebody called.

"Nope."

"Tripping over ourselves," someone else said.

"No."

"Better opponents."

"No." Sam waited for the next guess, and when it didn't come, he said, "You weren't working together. The best dueler in the world can be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Four of you working together can cast a shield over your entire group, leaving nine free to cast." It was a guess, but it would make sense - he knew how far _he_ could stretch a shield, and he knew he wasn't special. Others could do the same area or better. "A few other weaknesses? You didn't use the environment except to shield yourselves. You can charm or transfigure what's around you. Turn the floor into ice! Send a sheet of rock flying right at an opponent! Well, I guess I'd better make sure to specify the walls should be made of foam first." A few people laughed. " _Use what's around you._ When Umbridge was here, I used to imagine cutting the chain of the chandelier in the Entrance Hall and smacking her with it. You have all this crap around you. Use it!"

He checked his watch. "We have forty minutes left. Let's go again, but this time, try working as a team, and try using the environment. Just don't use the rocks, because I can't fix that kind of damage with the field healing I know."  
***  
Just weeks later came Sam's first weekend off. Emily had owled him back saying she'd meet him by the Three Broomsticks at three in the afternoon, so at two-thirty Sam set off, pockets jingling with a few Sickles and Knuts taken from his last paycheck. On his way he passed some sixth-years gossiping by the obstacle course as they watched the seventh- and eighth-years have a go. Unsurprisingly, the runners had stripped down to T-shirts; more unsurprisingly, they were three-quarters male; and least surprisingly of all, three-quarters of the onlookers were girls.

It was a nice day, crisp and clear, and Sam jogged for the fun of it. He made it to the Three Broomsticks at five to three and leaned against the outside to wait for Emily.

She appeared at two 'til, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was dressed sensibly in Muggle blue jeans and a low-cut green blouse, which matched the necklace Sam had given her. "Hello," she said.

"Hi," Sam said, leaning in for a kiss. She gave one gladly. "Shall we go in?"

"Sure." She grinned at him, and Sam grinned back, grabbing her hand.

He ordered two butterbeers and returned to the table Emily had claimed, up against a window. "Come here often?" she asked, accepting the mug from him.

He laughed and sat. "Used to. We have Hogsmeade weekends, up at Hogwarts. Once a month we'd all come down. We have one on _Halloween_ this year," he said disgustedly, and promptly had to explain the Halloween Curse to her.

"Wow," she said. "Just wow. And they let the students out of Hogwarts for it? Are they _insane?_ "

"Sometimes I think so," Sam said, sipping his drink. "Rugby played fifty feet in the air. Disappearing doorways. Moving staircases. Still using quills. It's easiest just to go with it and try to get everyone out safe."

"I'm glad I went to American schools instead," Emily said. "Hogwarts sounds ridiculous."

"Last month I learned about a room that can create anything you want," Sam said tiredly. "Entire forests! Parthenon ruins! _Anything!_ And it's sitting in a school pretending it doesn't exist. It's useful, but I just - who _does_ that? Who puts a room like that in a school full of teenagers?"

"People who don't understand teenagers," Emily said promptly.

"Yeah. Anyway. How's Mungo's been treating you?"

"Pretty well," Emily said. "I start my round in the cardiac unit next week. Should be interesting. I'm in emergency now. I should've believed my teachers when they told me how stupid people are."

The afternoon passed pleasantly, and so did the night. In the morning Sam woke up next to Emily for the first time and had a startling thought: _I could get used to this._

"What are you thinking?" she asked sleepily, not opening her eyes.

"I like waking up with you," he said.

"I like waking up with you, too," she said. "What time is it?"

"Around five."

She _mmf_ -ed and pulled the blanket over her head. "Three hours. Then I'll get up."

Sam stretched, got out of bed, and pulled on his boxers. That done, he padded into the kitchen. He could probably figure out how to make coffee for whenever Emily was ready to get up.

Three hours later, Emily came out to find him sitting on a chair and reading one of her books. "You like _Hula Juju_?" she asked in surprise.

"Never read it before," Sam said, not looking up.

"I've had it since I was nine," she told him. "If my great-grandma hadn't gotten it for me, I would've pitched it by now."

"It didn't seem like an adult book," he said absently, turning a page. "So this is what wizard kids grow up reading?"

"Yeah, why? What do Muggle kids grow up reading?"

"I was big into fantasy when I was little," Sam said. "Kids escaping their families and going on adventures. There's a book by a man named Roald Dahl, _Matilda_ , all about how this little psychic girl escapes her birth family and gets adopted by her first-grade teacher. Hermione Granger - she's one of my friends-now-students - she reminded me of Matilda when I first met her."

Emily got a cup of coffee and sat across from him, privately thinking that that probably said more about his life pre-Hogwarts than he'd ever intended to tell her. "What time do you need to be back?"

"Four."

"This was nice."

Sam _finally_ looked up. "It was," he said. "If you'd like, I can try to get more time off - we can do this more often."

"I actually wanted to talk to you," she said slowly. "About us, and our future."

Sam put the book down. "What about it?"

"Should we be moving on from dating?"

Sam did a double-take. "Moving - on? Like...breaking up?" It was the worst thing imaginable to him.

"Do you _want_ to break up?"

"If - if that's what you want," he said feebly, trying to keep the pain off his face.

"It's not what _I_ want!"

"Then - what - Em-"

"Do you see us lasting a while?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I - I love you."

"I love you too," she said. "I just wonder if…."

She trailed off, and Sam's mind filled in all kinds of horrible ends to that sentence. "If?"

"If we're serious enough to be talking rest-of-our-lives love," she said in a rush.

Oh.

_Oh._

"Marriage?" he asked, and he would deny until the day he died that his voice squeaked.

"We've been together almost two years now," she said. "Engagement's the next step."

"We're eighteen," Sam said, voice unsteady.

"My parents were married at seventeen," Emily said. "It's not something we have to do, I just thought...maybe we should talk about it."

Sam took a breath and forced himself to actually think about it. "I don't actually know how marriages work," he said at last. "Not in the magic world, at least."

"Probably the same way they work in the Muggle world."

"Yeah, probably," he said. "I don't - I'm not _opposed_ to the idea, but can I have some time to think?"

"Of course," she said. "This wasn't a _proposal_ , Sam."

"Oh thank god," he breathed. "Not that - I mean-"

"I know what you meant," she interrupted, smirking at him. "Anyway. Want some breakfast?"

Sam put down his book.


	5. Chapter 5

Halloween came inexorably closer, bringing with it a sharp upswing in work for the teachers as they frantically tried to decorate the castle. They transfigured bats, charmed the flagstones to turn orange, levitated bunting where they wanted it, conjured char-proof cobwebs for the chandeliers, and broke up arguments about Halloween in general. The older students' expressions gradually became fixed to 'waried paranoia', which Sam was feeling pretty heavily himself. The third of the mock-battles for the seventh- and eighth-years, held on October 30, was simultaneously more violent and more cooperative than the two before, with each team returning attacks tenfold. Hermione and Luna faced off this time, and the witches traded spells that shook the room. Sam idly cast a few charms to keep them from harming anyone else - they were in a planetarium this time, with celestial bodies that would explode when hit, and Seamus Finnegan had gone apeshit happy when he found that out while casting at Franklin Delano, a seventh-year Slytherin who had been hit with the red powder inside and declared 'out'.

Ten teachers accompanied the students to Hogsmeade this time, including both Sam and Flitwick, who had quickly agreed that Sam would hike to the Shrieking Shack to keep an eye on the north end of town while Flitwick stationed himself near the Three Broomsticks to watch the south side. The other teachers would wander around to guard the middle. There were still fifty to sixty Death Eaters roaming free, and if they chose to attack it would be either Halloween or early May when they made their move.

Very few people, mostly third- or fourth-years, wandered up to the Shack, where Sam had leaned against the fence and made himself comfortable. It wasn't a particularly interesting building, from the outside, moldering and crumbling down. The inside was just as bad, from what he remembered of his third year.

He wasn't there to look at the Shack, however. He was there to watch the skies and grounds surrounding the town - and watch he did, for hours. At one he trudged to a café for a quick sandwich, which he ate as he returned to the Shack and resumed his post.

The day wore on. Sam ran through defensive drills when he got too bored, keeping one eye on the fields beyond the village.

At five-thirty, just as Sam was straightening to gather up the students and return them to the castle for the Halloween feast, a spell hit the ground next to his feet. He cast a Domed Shield and looked wildly for the caster.

Broomsticks, too many to count, suddenly appeared out of the cloud banks. Sam fired off a Patronus that would run through town- the agreed-upon signal for residents, teachers, and students alike to get inside and hide - and readied himself for attack. Two of them split off the main force to focus on him, and that wouldn't do: he needed the attention of all of them. He picked off the two arrowing toward him with Aim-Correcting Stunning Spells - weaker than normal Stunners to the point they wouldn't feel much more than a stiff wind, they were used almost solely in aerial combat and would lock on to the targets. At the speed and height his opponents were at, it would almost certainly kill them to hit the ground. Sam was counting on it. He put up a One-Way Shield and cast the same spell repeatedly, trying to take down as many of the riders as he could.

He was forced to abandon that strategy and fall back solely to defense as spells rained upon him from all directions. He squatted to minimize the target area and blocked as much as he could, but some spells were bound to get through. A Cutting Curse sliced through his right arm, and Sam redoubled his efforts at shielding.

He had to hope they were all focused on him, because if they weren't, that meant some of them were in town with his students.  
***  
"Isn't that Sam's Patronus?" Ginny blurted suddenly, pointing.

"Yeah," Hermione said, catching sight of the wolverine just before it darted down an alleyway.

" _Sonorus,_ " Ginny muttered, tapping her throat. "EVERYBODY INSIDE!" she bellowed. Her voice echoed around the streets. "NOW! _Quietus._ "

Hermione and Ginny returned to the Three Broomsticks, where they were greeted by the sight of grim-faced older students and fearful young ones. "It'll be okay," Ginny said briskly. Hermione was muttering behind her, flicking her wand around the doors and windows. "Professor Winchester sent the warning sign, so they're coming from the north. Younger students, get away from the windows - older students, come forward, if they get past him you'll be needed."

Flitwick opened the door, shepherded six third-years inside, and looked at Ginny. "You've got it?" he squeaked.

"It's under control, Professor," Hermione said, still flicking her wand. "Nobody with a Dark mark can get in - I'm about to do the windows, Shatter-Proof Charm-"

"Good idea, Miss Granger. I'm off to help Sam."

The door closed, and his small body pelted headlong up the street.

Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode stepped up to the windows and started spelling them. "What are you doing?" Ginny asked.

"Shatter-proofing them, Weasley," Nott drawled. Bulstrode didn't even look up. "Finnegan! You're good at blowing shit up. Get cracking."

Seamus flipped him off but commandeered a table, conjuring and mixing things Ginny didn't want to name.

"Older students!" she called. "Older students, get into your defense groups! We'll be more effective if we know who we're fighting next to!"

"Quoting Winchester now?" Bole, a seventh-year Gryffindor, joked - but he got to his own group anyway.

A spell blew a crater in the street, and Hermione suddenly looked at Ginny. "The roof," she said, eyes wide and horrified.

The fireplace flamed green.  
***  
A spell knocked two of his attackers off their brooms. They crashed to the ground, thrashing against the ropes that now bound them.

"Flitwick," Sam breathed, catching sight of his diminutive colleague.

Another spell, one Sam didn't know, took out three. Sam took advantage of the confusion and dissolved his shield, lashing out in vicious offense and taking them by surprise. He and Flitwick set themselves at cross-angles, no chance of catching each other on accident but close enough to cover each other's backs. Spells rained down upon them, but with both of them champion duelers they were simple enough to block.

Getting offensive spells back was a little more difficult, of course. There were far too many Death Eaters to have much of a break in the spells, now that they knew where both Sam and Flitwick were and had adjusted to the presence of two and not just one. Flitwick, too, was having difficulty casting back. It was a stalemate, one they just had to hold until help arrived, and the two of them were good enough to keep all of them engaged until then. 

He _hoped_ all of them were engaged. If any of them got to the village and the students, Sam had failed his post.

He and Flitwick focused on the fight and prayed somebody would get there soon, but under the onslaught, Flitwick crumpled. "Filius!" Sam screamed, then had to dodge the curses, now green, being aimed solely at him.

Blocks were useless against the green spells. He knew that. He also knew that with how quickly he needed to move, he had less than zero chance of shooting back and hitting something, even if now the green was petering out to be replaced with white, yellow, blue, and orange.

A curse he hadn't seen hit him, and suddenly he was in the worst pain of his life.

It lifted, moments later, and he realized he was on the ground - he still had a grip on his wand, long-ago lessons of the _Never drop your weapon_ sort having kicked in subconsciously.

He fired off another Patronus, a message to the students he knew could fight well, before he got hit with another Cruciatus.  
***  
Sam's Patronus appeared again, in the middle of the Aurors Flooing into the Three Broomsticks. Even speaking through a silver wolverine, he sounded tired to Harry's ears.

_"Flitwick's down. I'm hit, about to be hit again. Theo, Ginny, get your groups, they're best at offense. Hermione, Millie, yours are better at defense - stay with the younger kids. Sixth-years, you too, **protect th-AHHH!"**_

The wolverine dissolved.

"Groups?" the leader of their squad asked, bewildered.

"Defense class, he split us into four," Theo answered, already motioning his fellows forward. "Fight together instead of apart, that sort of thing. We should move out."

"You've changed, Nott," Harry said.

"So've you, Potter," he said with a ghost of a smile.

The last of the ten Aurors came through.

"All right," Redello, their leader, said. "Potter, Weasley, Grant, you go with the two groups their teacher named. Grant, report back when you know have a count, use your Patronus. The rest of you, spread out. Find other places where students have holed up, clear pattern delta, and set up wards. I'll be here. Go!"

They scattered. Grant took point on the student groups; Harry and Ron flanked him. Twenty or so students from all houses streamed behind them.

"Sam was stationed at the Shrieking Shack," Theo said crisply, then raised his voice. "Ginny!"

"I'll take left when we get there," she said, apparently knowing what he was about to say. "I'll set Lavender, Luna, and Beatrice to shielding, who's got yours?"

"Millie, Esther, and Sally-Anne," Theo said crisply. "They're the best at stretching One-Ways. You, Grant, are we incapacitating or killing?"

"Prefer to take them alive, but I won't be too angry if some of them don't make it," Grant said off-handedly.

"I'll spread the word," Theo said, and dropped back to speak to the students.

"Sam's trained you well," Harry said absently to Ginny.

"Someone had to," she said sharply. "He graduated top of his class from the American Auror school. With a bad arm. Here we go. Shields!" she bellowed.

Shimmering blue appeared overtop them. Umbrella shields, they were called. Less stable than the other shield charms, but they could be moved at will and would protect their heads. Good, because the Death Eaters were on brooms, most of them distracted by something (or _someone_ , Harry's mind whispered to him) on the ground. Still, quite a few were soaring into town.

 _"Expecto patronum,_ " Grant muttered. A peregrine falcon flapped back to the Three Broomsticks, presumably to deliver a count.

"On my signal," Grant ordered, but at that moment the ones in front drew close enough to hear the screaming.

"That's Sam," Theo blurted.

"Then let's go," Harry said, starting forward.

Grant caught him by the back of his robes. "You and Weasley, go to aerial," he ordered.

"No!" Ginny said instantly. "We could hit them by mistake, and at that height-"

Grant grimaced; clearly he'd forgotten to factor in the two dozen students who were ready to fight. "Fuck."

Another scream echoed. Laughter floated to them on the breeze as they drew closer - close enough to be noticed. Spells shot at them, and the Umbrella Charm absorbed the curses.

"GO!" Grant bellowed, and leapt forward to duel.

It was less chaotic than they'd feared; with their opponents all in the air, it was easier to keep track of who was on their side. The students had learned to fight with each other, and they relied on their teammates to block for them. The Aurors had been trained to work alone. The battle raged for only a few minutes before beginning to die down as Death Eaters dropped - and were crushed - like flies.

Grant took down the last six with a Net Spell they were too distracted to block. He fired off a Patronus to Redrello, telling him of their success and a rough count, as Harry, Theo, and Ginny all went to their knees beside Sam. "Sam?" Theo said, sounding panicked.

Harry tapped Sam's chest and cast one of the diagnostic spells they'd been taught their first week. "Tortured," he said. "He'll be all right with some rest."

"Anyone else hurt?" Grant called.

Sam grumbled beneath them and opened his eyes. "Whatheell," he mumbled.

"Cruciatus," Harry informed him.

"Huh." Sam cracked his neck. "Yernodda - student."

"No," Harry said, hiding a smile. "Madam Rosmerta called the Aurors."

"Good," Sam said vaguely. "Filius?"

"Alive," Grant called, "but he needs Mungo's."

"Huh," Sam mumbled, trying to remember how to move his limbs. His right arm was shooting pain all through him.

"Don't try to talk," Ron advised him. "Come on - let's get you back to Hogwarts."

Sam flat-out refused to be hovered, instead forcing himself to his feet and swaying, face gray, until Theo ducked under his left arm to steady him. Sam was startled to find he was an inch or two taller than the other boy now.

"Your arm's still screwed, huh?" Ron said, sounding like he was trying for sympathetic.

"Yep," Sam said flatly. "Forever."

Grant hovered Flitwick, and they set off into town. "We'll hole up at the Three Broomsticks until we know how the others fared," he told them all.

"I'sh'd help," Sam mumbled.

" _You_ should stay where we can keep an eye on you, dumbass," Millie said affectionately. Sam flipped her the bird with his right hand, dangling uselessly by his hip. She saw anyway.

They made it to the pub without difficulty and filed inside. Ernie and Neville shooed a few third-years out of a booth so Theo could set Sam down. "Keep him awake," Harry ordered, and disappeared, probably going back to his squad leader.

"Wait a second," Ernie said suddenly. "Where'd Bulstrode go?"

Sam remembered the vision he'd been having for years. Adrenaline shot through his system. "We need to find her. _Now._ "

"You see it?" Theo asked.

"Town full of attacking Death Eaters, I don't need foresight," Sam said bluntly, still slurring a little.

"Okay. Okay." Theo absently patted Sam's hair. "She'll be found, Sam, just take a breath and calm down."

"Right, yeah," Sam mumbled, forcing himself to sit up straight instead of leaning on his longtime friend.

Not five minutes later, the remaining Aurors trooped inside the Three Broomsticks. "The threat has passed," one announced. "You may return to the school."

"What about Millie?" Pansy called.

"No casualties have been found," Redrello said. "Go on back. You can find your friend at the school."

"All right, Sam, come on," Theo said, hauling him to his feet. Blaise put an arm around his waist to take more of his weight, and they supported him, all the way back to the castle and up to the hospital wing.

"Winchester!" Pomfrey barked.

"Madam Pomfrey," he said with a small wince. Theo and Blaise deposited him on the bed.

"I've already sent Filius to St. Mungo's," she said. "Do _you_ need to go?"

"No," he said hastily. "Just - just a few Cruciatuses - I'm sure I'll be fine if I sleep it off-"

"Hmmph," she said. "Wait right there. It's a quick-acting potion, you'll be able to go down at the feast in no time. You two, shoo."

"See you later, Sam," Blaise said, and he and Theo trooped out. 

Pomfrey gave him a potion that smelled like strawberries but tasted like a toilet that hadn't been cleaned in six years. "Five minutes," she said firmly.

"You said Flit- uh, Filius got sent to Mungo's?"

"Curse damage," she said quietly. "Beyond my ability."

Sam's heart froze, and unbidden, the memory of the small man crying over his lifeless body rose in his mind's eye. "Do you know if he'll be all right?"

"I don't know at all," she admitted. "Now, if you'll excuse me…." She went into her office and shut the door firmly.

When Sam stood next, his head wasn't spinning, and the small electrical shocks that had been periodically zipping through him were gone, noticeable only by their absence after the ringing pain forced upon him. He made his way down to the Great Hall and entered on the Slytherin side, pausing briefly behind Millie to lean down and say quietly, "I'm glad you're all right."

She smiled up at him. "Glad you're all right too, S- er, Professor."

He smiled back and straightened, continuing to his place at the staff table. It wasn't until he was already seated that he realized the hall was decked in black.

He leaned over to Slughorn. "Who didn't make it?"

"Jake Franks," Slughorn answered, voice sounding unnaturally hollow. "Muggleborn. Third year. One older sister in Ravenclaw. He was Hufflepuff."

Sam knew who he was. He'd had him in class nearly two months, after all. He nodded and looked at the food, which looked even more unappetizing than usual. He ladled out a bowl of pumpkin soup and ate mechanically, eyes drawn to the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, the most subdued of the room. There was a frisson of anger, too, and Sam knew what the younger students were thinking: the war was over, so why were people still dying?

He wished he had an answer for them.


	6. Chapter 6

November second found him slipping back to the Astronomy Tower to talk to the picture of his mother. He told her of the move back to England, of Emily who had owled him demanding they see each other so she could convince herself he was in one piece, of his plans to visit a ring shop. He left just as the Gryffindors were arriving for their class, attracting a few odd looks, but nobody said anything to him.

The rest of November sped by in a sleety blur. Flitwick remained in St. Mungo's, and so the other teachers took turns covering his classes until he returned. Sam's classroom quickly became somewhere for students to spend their after-dinner hours working on defensive spells and aim. Quite a few students, from all houses and all years, brought homework for other classes and wrote essays in his room, knowing that - at least for fifth-year and below - he was more than willing to look over them and correct any mistakes he saw. The first time he saw a sixth-year Gryffindor help a second-year Slytherin with his target practice, Sam grinned broadly.

That wasn't the only example he saw in the weeks following Halloween, just the most egregious. The mock battle he held two weeks later for his sixth-years was fought more fiercely than the previous ones, and even the losers clapped and cheered when Amy Santiago, a Ravenclaw, was declared the winner. His seventh- and eighth-years were sent through the obstacle course in groups for the first time, and even Seamus was thawing, more willing to work with Goyle and Draco than he had been at the beginning of the year. True, he was thawing like a glacier a century before the official end of the Ice Age, but reflexively catching Goyle's sleeve when he started to fall off the wall was a start.

The second-years were coming out of their shell, volunteering answers and even laughing occasionally, though some of them still shrank back when Sam said, "Not quite," when they got an answer wrong. Every time they did he had to tamp down the rage swelling within him, not because of their reaction but because he knew why they were reacting so. His third-years weren't quite as bad; they'd had a full year of normal schooling, after all, so they _knew_ how things were supposed to work.

One Friday night before Sam's next day off, he asked Millie, Hermione, Ginny, and Pansy to stay when everyone else left his classroom after dinner. He'd gone to the library; he knew how magical weddings worked now. All that was left was to commit.

He pulled out a magazine he'd been owled earlier in the week and said, "I want to propose to my girlfriend. Can you help me pick out a ring?"

Just as he'd expected, they were all over that, paging through the magazine with him and bickering good-naturedly over design. Twenty minutes later, they were down to three possibilities.

"Which one would she like most?" Pansy asked him.

Sam looked at the three. She was an outgoing person; subtlety was not her strong suit. He ruled out a thin silver band with a single small diamond on that basis alone. Of the other two, one was paired with a wedding ring that would click into place, but it, too, was subtle. The third had a larger square-cut diamond, flanked by a smaller emerald on each side and set into a silver band.

That had been one of the major differences, Sam had found: Muggles liked gold for their wedding bands; witches and wizards preferred silver.

"This one," he said without hesitation.

"Oh, Slytherin colors," Millie teased.

Sam laughed. "Also the colors of our dorm at Salem."

"Seriously?" Pansy asked.

"Seriously," he said, circling the ring. "Thanks for your help."

"Any time, Sam. When are you proposing?" Ginny asked.

"Our anniversary. January seventeenth." He'd been scheduled to have his day off on the sixteenth, but McGonagall had been more than willing to let him have Sunday the seventeenth instead once he'd explained it was his two-year anniversary.

"How are you going to do it?"

"I'm thinking a nice dinner, back to her apartment for dessert, and then I'll ask."

"I'm so happy for you, Sam," Pansy said.

"Thanks. Um, it's getting close to curfew," he said.

"Oh, shit," Millie said. "See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Sam confirmed. When they'd gone, he looked back down at the ring he'd circled and smiled. She'd love it.  
***  
The plan was to meet at the Leaky Cauldron, and so after he'd gone into the jewelry store on Diagon and bought the ring, he doubled back to meet her in the pub he'd once stayed at for over two months. She came through the Floo just after noon and greeted him with a deep kiss. He had to bend further to return it than he was used to; he'd grown another inch in the month since they'd last seen each other.

"I love you," she said.

"Love you too. Hi."

"Hi." She laughed breathlessly. "So. Lunch?"

They settled in a comfortable corner to eat their sandwiches. They talked about their jobs and shared amusing stories of their coworkers. Every so often, Emily's expression would flicker to worry before returning to cheer.

"So what's wrong?" Sam asked when they were done eating. "You've been on edge this whole time."

She swallowed, all cheer - fake or real - gone from her face. "I want to start by saying that if you want to leave, I'll understand," she said. "But I'm finishing this no matter what."

Sam's stomach dropped. Last month they'd been talking marriage; now it sounded like she wanted the relationship to end. "Finishing what?" he asked carefully.

She took a breath, appeared to steel herself, and said, "I'm pregnant."

All thought fled Sam's mind, leaving him gaping dumbly at her. "I - preg- uh-"

She bit her lip and stood. "I should go," she said quietly.

"No!" he said instantly, rocketing to his feet, because he knew nothing but that he wanted her to stay. "No, please, stay. I was just a little surprised. How-?"

"Three months or so, according to Harrietta," she said, retaking her seat. He bent down and returned his chair to upright to do the same.

"That would be the night we graduated, then," he said, trying to think back. It was mostly a blank; they'd both drunk a hell of a lot to celebrate they were both done with school, and Sam's memory was sketchy after about eight o'clock that night.

"Yeah," she said.

"Well," he said slowly, "I was going to wait to do this, but." He pulled the new ring out of his pocket, popped open the top, and came down on one knee. "Emily Raticker, you have been the best part of my life since the day you walked over to me and laughed at me describing Hogwarts. I fell in love with you at that dance when you taught me to two-step, and I can't imagine my life without you in it." She was crying now, one slow tear spilling down her cheek. "Would you do me the very great honor of letting me become your husband?"

She flew off her chair and tackled him; they fell in a tangle of limbs. "Yes," she sobbed, "yes, yes, _yes!_ "

There were wolf-whistles from the Leaky Cauldron's other patrons when she kissed him hard. He tried to return it, but in under ten seconds he had to pull away. "Emily," he gasped, "can you get off me? My arm…."

"Oh! Oh, yes, of course," she said, scrambling to her feet. Sam rolled to his side, freeing his right arm from where it had gotten trapped beneath him, and got to his feet himself. He set down the ring box, pulled the ring from it plush confines, and slid it onto Emily's finger. 

She kissed him again, to a chorus of whistles and some applause. They were both panting a bit when she pulled away. "Let's go somewhere more private," she murmured to him.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "Let me just settle the bill."

She came up to the register with him, and then Side-Alonged him back to the apartment.

"Wait a minute," he said suddenly when she was spread out on the bed. "Won't this hurt the baby?"

"No," she said. "Two different organs."

Sam blinked at her. "What?"

"Well, there goes the mood," she grumbled. Not bothering to dress, she rolled out of bed and returned to the living room. He followed to find her already paging through a book. "Here," she said, passing him the book. There was a diagram on the page. "This is what a woman's insides look like. The baby's up here, your dick goes down there. It's perfectly safe."

Sam blinked down at the book, rendered in lovingly detailed pinks and yellows. "I thought it was all one…?"

"Nope," she said. "Didn't you learn _anything_ in sex ed?"

"Like Runner stumbling through an explanation of condoms and using euphemisms for everything?"

"Point," she allowed.

He took one last look at the diagram, committing it to memory, and reached around her to reshelve it. She surged forward and kissed him again. "After this," she said, "we'll start planning. I want the wedding before I begin to show."  
***  
December passed in a flurry of letter-writing as they tried to coordinate and plan a wedding for January 17. Sam sent owls to Kate and Adam and to Lianne and Christina to invite them, feeling a pinch of anger and hurt that his blood family wouldn't see him - but it was for the best. If they came, there would be at least two deaths, possibly more.

Flitwick regained consciousness, but his mind would likely not be the same ever again. He resigned, apologizing to all of them in the letter he dictated, and traveled to France, where he would live with his niece and his nephew-in-law until he either finished recuperating or, more likely, died of old age. McGonagall took out an ad for a Charms teacher in the _Daily Prophet_ , hoping to have Filius replaced by the beginning of the spring term. 

Sam found his dress robes, charmed them to black, and added another few inches to their length. He also ordered two wedding rings, a silver band for each of them, and asked Theo to be his best man. He agreed readily.

Sam also had to talk McGonagall into allowing half her eighth-year students to be allowed out of school on a Sunday. She buckled under pretty easily, actually - apparently the war had left her with a desire to make students happy. Provided none of them did anything particularly stupid, she was fine with it.

Damn near everyone was taking advantage of the recent peace to go home. Only a sixth-year Ravenclaw named Amelia Franks, whose little brother had been killed in Hogsmeade, and a fifth-year Hufflepuff named Derek Runkle, who was fascinated by curses, would remain at the castle. McGonagall dismissed most of the staff over break; only she, Slughorn, and Sprout would remain behind. Sam and his friends exchanged books, but for Emily, he'd gotten a thin bronze bracelet he'd engraved protective symbols upon. 

Over the break, he wrote a letter to the Ministry as a request to create a Portkey. The day before he was supposed to return to Hogwarts, he attended a class for first-time parents with Emily. The hour focused on how to hold and feed babies, and Sam realized that with one bad arm, he was going to be functionally useless. He waited until everyone else but Emily had cleared out to ask Clara, the Healer running the class, if there were any spells or ways to use only one arm while feeding or holding.

She glanced at his right arm and away. "Er, yes, actually. You can arrange the baby with blankets, mimic the angle he'd be at normally, and feed him that way. Are you breastfeeding or bottle-feeding?"

"He'll be bottle-feeding," Emily said dryly.

The Healer nodded. "Here, let me show you a spell that will put the blanket in the right shape."

It took a few minutes, but Sam managed to get the spell right before they left. Emily slipped her hand into his as they returned to the apartment. "Can you believe this is happening?" she asked, dark eyes sparkling.

Sam kissed her nose. "I'm glad it is."


	7. Chapter 7

January seventeenth came both too quickly and not soon enough for Sam. His friends joined him in his office to Portkey to the chapel, out in Aberdeen, on a stretch of road rarely frequented by Muggles but accessible to a car. It had been chosen solely for its proximity to an airport and accessibility to Kate, Lianne, and Christina. Adam and Kate's flight had gotten in the night before, and Sam and Emily had set the wedding for five o'clock so it would be noon for their internal clocks.

"Sam," Theo said in disbelief when he saw him, "you're not wearing _that_ , are you?"

Sam looked down at his dress robes and frowned. "What's wrong with it?"

"You don't wear black to a wedding," Millie said, sounding exasperated. "Black is for funerals."

"So what color's for weddings?"

"Blue," Millie said, twitching her wand. His robes rippled, as if in a high wind, and became a pale aquamarine. "Better. But why are you still wearing all that metal?"

"They're the medals I earned in Auror school," Sam said, protective of them. "I'm supposed to wear them at all important functions, including weddings."

Theo grinned at him. "Got a lot, huh?"

"Yeah, well, I technically led a grounds troop in the Battle, so." He shrugged with one shoulder. "Anyway. We ready to leave now?"

"Yes," they all said. Goyle grunted. 

Sam held out the dangling silver chain and waited until they'd all grabbed links to murmur, "Get thee behind me," his chosen code phrase.

A familiar jerk came from behind his navel, and they landed in a small room just off the entranceway. Sam slipped the Portkey back into his pocket - it was how his friends would return to Hogwarts after the reception, though he was spending the night with Emily, the only honeymoon they would get - and left, his friends trooping out behind him.

"Five til," a man said in a thick Scottish brogue, hurrying up to them. "You're the groom? Follow me." He grabbed Sam's arm and pulled.

Sam cried out in pain: the man had grabbed his _right_ arm, which was dropped like a hot potato. "I'll follow," he said thickly, blinking back tears.

He and Theo hurried to the altar to await Emily. Their friends found seats, taking up an entire row, and Sam scanned the crowd. He grinned at Lianne and Christina, sitting five rows back. They both smiled back.

Music - the wizarding equivalent of Mendelssohn's Bridal Chorus - began. Sam straightened; Theo muttered, "If you were any tighter I could make a diamond in your colon," making him snort out a quiet laugh.

The doors opened, and Emily appeared, radiant in the pure white of her dress that had been cut to hide the slight bump on her belly. She walked slowly up the aisle, and with every step, Sam could make out more detail: the color of her eyeshadow, the gloss on her lips, the embroidery on her robe, the glass roses on the pins holding her mass of dark hair up off her face and neck. ("Overheating isn't funny," she'd told Sam once, so she usually kept her hair off her neck to keep her cool.)

"You look gorgeous," he whispered when she made it to the altar.

"You're pretty good yourself. But blue?"

"Apparently that's the color for weddings over here."

"Silly Britain."

They smiled at each other and reached out to hold each other's hands. Most of the speech, about love and commitment and happiness, went in one ear and out the other; all he could think of was Emily.

"Have you the rings?" the man asked, and Theo passed him the pair. Sam slipped Emily the thicker one meant for him.

"Emily Raticker, do you take Sam Winchester to be your husband, in illness and health, in poverty and wealth, in magic, in name, in life?"

"I do," she said, and slid the ring on.

"Sam Winchester, do you take Emily Raticker to be your wife, in illness and health, in poverty and wealth, in magic, in name, in magic, in life?"

"I do," he said, and fumbled the ring onto her; it was difficult to do one-handed.

"You may kiss your bride."

Sam and Emily leaned in at the same moment and kissed - chaste, really, this was a church and they were surrounded by people.

"I pronounce you husband and wife," the officiator said, and cheers went up from the audience.

The reception was held in a small building attached to the chapel. There was no bar, but Everlasting Pitchers of fruit juices, ice water, and iced tea were sitting on a table off to the side, next to an assortment of snacks.

"Attention, everyone," Theo called. "I'd like to make a toast."

"This is going to be embarrassing," Sam muttered as the room quieted. At least there was no alcohol involved - Sam had passed it off as not liking alcohol, but really Emily wasn't ready for everyone to know she was pregnant.

"First off - Sam, mate, congratulations. I'm glad you're happy.

"But I wouldn't be a good best man unless I embarrassed you, right?" A few people clapped. "So let me tell you about the time Sam got in the way of an angry hippogriff."

"Oh no," he mumbled.

"Care of Magical Creatures class, third year. Sam's being affected by the dementors, and the bloody idiot volunteers to ride a hippogriff. Fly on a hippogriff, when he could barely keep his balance on a broom. Skinny, nerdy little boy facing this great beast, right? Except he does that fine. He rides the thing around the paddock - I can't even remember the hippogriff's name, now-"

"Buckbeak," Sam called to him.

"Buckbeak, right. They land, he gets off, everything's fine. Except then some _other_ moron decides to insult a _different_ hippogriff, and it freaks." Draco pinked. "Sam pushes him out of the way and gets clawed down through his spine. Couldn't carry his bag or chop ingredients during Potions for two days. If he hadn't been Slytherin, Snape might've put him in detention for that."

"Remember Umbridge and the thestrals?" Millie called.

Theo started laughing. "Fifth year, Care of Magical Creatures class _again_ , and Dolores Umbridge is the High Inquisitor, right? She comes down to inspect Hagrid, the Creatures professor, and he's decided to show us _thestrals!_ A Class Five restricted species for a class of fifteen-year-olds.

"Turns out Sam's been petting the damn things since our second year. He's been seeing them all along. He called one 'buddy' when we were in class." Laughs all around. "So Umbridge comes down, right, and she _hates_ Hagrid. Hates Sam, too, actually. It's the hunter thing." A few gasps. Sam winced - clearly, Emily hadn't filled in her entire family. "So she comes down, tries to get everyone to say Hagrid's a horrible teacher, and then starts ragging on Sam, asking if he feels the need to kill them. Somehow they start talking about dementors, and Sam goes, _If a dementor was standing this close to me, I'd be dead._

"Umbridge turned about fifteen different colors before she blew her top and brought up one of the times he'd _actually_ died before. Sam brought up the other and asked if she had any other 'irrelevant trivia'" - Theo put air quotes around those two words - "she'd like to bring up. He got a week's detention for that."

"Worth it," Sam called, though he still bore the scars from her punishments.

"He really is one of the best friends I could ask for, though," Theo said. "He's the only reason I made it through Charms without accidentally killing anyone. Rubbish at the subject. And now he's my professor! It's weird as hell, Sam."

"Weird for me too, Theo," he said.

"Ah, good. Anyway - I've never met Emily before. Picked her up in America. But anyone who's a friend of Sam's is a friend of mine, so welcome to the fold!" He raised his glass, then drank it back.

The next to toast was Emily's father. "I suppose that since I've never met Sam, I'm on par with young Theo for my ability to toast." There was a smattering of polite laughter. "But I _can_ talk about my daughter. She has been one of the best things in my life. She and her sisters drove me up the wall sometimes, but I've always loved them.

"When Emily was five, she decided it would be a good idea to climb on top of the bookshelves and then jump down onto my shoulders to scare me when I walked into my office. She missed, and bounced off the floor - that's how we learned she had magic. She started making her vegetables vanish at dinner." Emily flushed prettily. "Put wine in her glass at dinner, said it was unfair we could drink it when she couldn't. She was a handful.

"So, Sam, good luck handling her."

Everyone laughed quietly and raised their glasses. Then came an end to the toasting, and dinner began. It was a good dinner, if a little bland, and Sam smiled the whole way through.

When everyone had cleared their plates, music was piped in. Sam stood and offered his hand to Emily. She took it with a grin.

It was a two-step, the only dance he knew, the one she'd taught him. They'd danced this to the Weird Sisters and the Bloody Ghouls all night on Valentine's Day, during the dance that was their first date.

"Happy anniversary," Emily whispered to him when the song ended.

"Happy anniversary," he answered, leaning down to kiss her.

Theo grabbed him up for the next dance. Millie took Emily. Then Sam danced with each of Emily's little sisters, and then her mother. Emily danced with Lianne, Christina, and Adam in the same time frame.

They decided on a break at the same time, and ended up sitting at the same table. They grinned. "You want something to drink?" Sam asked. "Fruit punch?"

"That would be awesome," she said, toeing out of her shoes.

"Be right back," Sam promised, and stood back up.

By the time he came back, two cups in hand, she had been joined by Kate, Lianne, and Christina. "Adam's with Rebecca and Allison," Kate told him, pointing. He followed her finger and saw Adam running around with Emily's younger sisters.

He passed the cup over to Emily and said, "Anyone else?"

"No, thanks, Sam. We're good." Lianne stood and drew him into a hug.

He returned it. "It's so good to see you again."

"Good to see you, too," she said, pulling back.

Christina took her place instantly. "But really, blue?"

"It's traditional," he said. "Black for funerals, blue for weddings."

"Who told you that?" Emily asked, sounding amused.

"Theo. Maybe it's just a Brit thing."

"Maybe so," Emily said.

"So," Lianne said. "Any hunts lately?"

"Not with this arm," Sam said bitterly. "You?"

"Werewolf pack last week," Christina said.

"Ouch," Sam said, knowing the only way for just two hunters to deal with a full pack was to snipe them while they were still human.

"Let's change the topic," Kate said quickly, forcing a smile. "How's your first year of teaching?"

"It's certainly something," Sam said with a small laugh. "'Specially since half of 'em are people I knew when _I_ was a student."

"Bet that's fun," Kate said. "So - Emily - you're a doc- uh, Healer?"

"That's right," Emily said, taking a sip of punch. "I'm working in emergency now. You wouldn't believe the things people do to each other."

"Tell us about it," Lianne said.

"There was this one patient. Sister cursed him to have bluejay's wings sprouting out of his back. She's done it before - four times! - and he still doesn't know how to get rid of them."

"Wow," Kate said.

"Yeah. So, Kate, what do you do?"

"I'm a nurse."

"So you have your own curse stories."

"No, no," she said. "I'm not a witch. The closest I get to curses is when someone dies and the family gets angry."

"Had that happen," Emily said.

"Sam!" somebody yelled, and then a small body barreled straight into his belly.

"Oof! Hey, Adam," Sam said fondly. "How's school going?"

"It's so great! We're covering Red Caps in Defense, and Sman said I was better at identifying creatures by their victims than _anyone!_ "

"Good job," Sam said. "Anyone special?"

Adam blushed furiously.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sam said. "So come on, what's their name?"

"Julia," he mumbled.

"Julia," he said with a small smile. "Pretty?"

"Very," Adam said, daring a smile in return.

"Emily!" Allison, the older of Emily's sisters, said, coming up behind Adam.

"Hey," she said, grinning at her. "How's school going for you?"

She made a face. "Donna's not too happy. I messed up replanting a Mandrake and Johnny Lisert passed out. I hate Mandrakes."

"Mandrakes are pretty useful," Sam said. 

"Yeah? Name one thing they can do," Allison challenged.

"Mandrake Restorative Draught," Sam said instantly. "Reverses Petrification. Even works on reflected basilisk lines of sight."

"Basilisks kill," Allison said as Rebecca came up behind her.

"Not if you only see the reflection," Sam said. 

"How do _you_ know?"

"Because there was a basilisk at Hogwarts," Sam said matter-of-factly.

"There was?" Rebecca asked, eyes wide.

Allison jumped, like she hadn't realized her sister was behind her, and Adam snickered at her. "Jumpy?"

"Shut up, loser."

"Hey!" everyone but Rebecca said at once.

Allison blinked, clearly surprised by the surround sound scolding.

Emily's parents appeared. "Hey, baby," her dad said.

"Hey, Dad," she said, standing and hugging him.

"Sam."

"Mr. Raticker."

"Oh, please. It's Nick now!"

"Nick, then," he said, shaking his hand. "And-"

"Dora, please," her mother said, squeezing him.

"Hello, Dora," he said, awkwardly returning the hug with his good arm.

"We're gonna take the kids on back," Nick said. "Say bye."

"Bye, Emily!" they chorused, both hugging her. "Bye, Sam."

"Bye, guys," he said, waving.

"Nice to meet you, Sam," Dora said, shepherding them away.

"They seem nice," Sam said, turning back to the table.

"Oh, they are," Emily said. "Exceptionally nice. So. Adam. Got any stories about Salem? How's Runner doing?"

Adam shuddered exaggeratedly. "Sam destroyed any chance I had of Runner grading me like he grades everyone else."

"Sorry about that," Sam said with a laugh.

They made small talk for an hour more before Emily started yawning. "We should head out, too," Sam said, a little regretful. "It was _fantastic_ seeing you all again."

"You too, Sam," Lianne said, and after another round of hugs, he went to find his friends.

He passed Theo the chain. "Trigger's the same phrase I used to get us all here," he said.

"Thanks, Sam. Congratulations again."

"Thanks," he said, and then he managed another round of hugs, this time with his friends-cum-students before he returned to Emily and they Apparated to her bedroom.

"Now," she said, smiling up at him. "I know it's our wedding night, but I am fucking _exhausted_."

"Course," Sam said. "Can I just hold you?"

"Oh, of course you can," Emily said, shrugging out of her robe to leave her in only a tank top and shorts. "In fact, I insist on it."

Sam kissed first her mouth, then her abdomen, just starting to show the bump. "Let's get you into bed," he whispered.

For the first night in a long string of them, Sam fell asleep feeling good about how his life was going. Even his problems with his arm didn't seem so insurmountable now. He could adjust.

He _could_ , and he _would._ And Emily would be by his side every step of the way.


	8. Chapter 8

When he walked into the Great Hall the next morning, just before breakfast ended, he was greeted with claps and cheers. There was a loud BANG, which made him instinctively draw his wand, and glittering letters appeared over the tables: CONGRATULATIONS PROFESSOR WINCHESTER. 

"Have a good night?" Slughorn muttered to him when he got up to the Head Table.

"Pretty good," Sam said back, ignoring the wicked hook to his colleague's smile and grabbing a piece of toast instead. "You?"

"It was all right," Slughorn said. "Not as good as yours, though, eh?"

Sam smiled uncomfortably.

Every one of his classes that day congratulated him. A few of the older years made bawdy jokes until he took House points - then they simmered down.

Life moved on. February 14, too, was a Sunday, and Sam got that day off. He spent it with Emily, mostly just keeping her company in the apartment. Her belly bulge was really starting to show, now, and she was starting to have a bit of difficulty moving around. They made lunch together - grilled cheese sandwiches and a spinach-cranberry salad. They swapped stories of their jobs, their lives apart from each other.

Jess stopped by once she got off work mid-afternoon. "So," she said. "Bring it up yet?"

"Bring what up?" Sam asked.

"Take that as a no." Jess went into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee like she did it all the time. She probably did, come to think of it - she and Emily had been friends since they'd started Healing school, and they worked together daily. Sam certainly didn't begrudge Emily her friends, but it was a little galling to know they'd discussed something that apparently had to do with him.

"How are we going to make this work?" Emily asked. "I mean, are you coming home at night, do we need to get a babysitter during the day, do we need to get a bigger place, we need to make a budget-"

"Okay," Sam said, holding up a hand. "Where's some paper? Let's make a list of your questions and go through them."

"Already done," Jess called, putting the milk back in the fridge. "One of the books."

"This one," Emily said, pulling out a book and opening the cover. "Remember it?"

It was the same one she'd used to show him what the inside of a woman looked like. "Yep," he said.

She pulled out a piece of lined notebook paper and put the book back. "So. One," she said, sitting next to him. "When this kid comes, we'll need someone to watch him. I could go on nights, if you could take him then. Or we could hire a sitter, but then you wouldn't see the kid very often at all. Or, of course, we could get someone else to-"

"I could take him nights," Sam interrupted. "If I can't get them off, I could set up a crib in my room at Hogwarts - not sure I could work it during the day, though."

"Okay, so I'll go to nights at Mungo's, and - pick-up and drop-off, how do we handle that?"

"He's due in May, and by then I'll have passed the Apparition test," Sam said. "So I guess we could take him back and forth? You bring him to the school when you wake up, and I'll bring him back here? That way we're not Side-Alonging when we're tired."

"Sounds good," she said, scribbling in the margin. "Next. Do we need a bigger place? If you're coming back regularly, this is kind of small for two adults and a kid. If not, it's still on the small side."

"So a bigger place?" he asked. "House or apartment?"

"I've always lived in an apartment," she said. "I like the idea of a house, but can we swing it?"

"Okay, I make twenty thousand galleons a year," Sam said. "You know the exchange rate for pounds?"

"One galleon is five pounds," Jess said, settling in a chair across from them.

"So that's about a hundred thousand pounds a year," Sam said. "Damn. Didn't realize it was that much."

"And I make thirty-four thousand," Emily said, "so that's, what, hundred and seventy thousand? What's the cost of a house? Not in London, out in the country, maybe."

"No idea," Sam said. "We could call a realtor?"

"Sounds good," she said. "Okay, so, house." She wrote the word out underneath the question. "Next - finances. We can open up an account at Gringotts, we can have two accounts, we can have a combined fund and then separate accounts - thoughts?"

"Um," he said. "I - uh - what do you think?"

"I think joint account for expenses, separate accounts for what's left," she said. "Say, ten percent of each month's income into the joint from each of us?"

"Ten percent? That's a hundred sixty-six from me," Sam said. "Will that be enough?"

"With my two-eighty-three? Should be good," Emily said. "We can revisit if that's not enough."

"Good. What's next?"

"I want Jess to be the baby's godmother," she said. "If something happens to us-"

"That's fine," he interrupted. "Can't think of anyone better."

"Flatterer," Jess said, touching his shoulder.

He leaned away slightly. "What's next?"

"Wills," Emily said. "Do you have one?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "It's in my office, with the other papers I have. Last will and testament - I should draw up a new one, I haven't updated it in over a year."

"I don't have one at all yet," she said. "So I'll need to visit a lawyer sometime soon."

Sam nodded. "What's next?"

"Do you have a preference for formula or breastfeeding?"

Sam blinked. "I...honestly, I thought you'd be the one making that call."

"Smart man," Jess said. "Where can I get one like you?"

"Look around. You'll find someone," Sam said. 

" _Very_ smart man," she said.

"All right," Emily said, bringing them back on topic. "So I guess I'll breastfeed when I have the kid, and then you can formula-feed? Or I'll pump, or something. You don't have an opinion, so that's good. Names." 

"Do we know the sex yet?"

"Girl."

"Girl. Hmm." Sam looked at Emily. "You have any names in mind?"

"I was thinking maybe Lisa, or Phyllis."

"Phyllis?" Jess asked skeptically.

"It's my grandmother's name."

"And it shows its age," Jess pointed out. "What about Rita?"

"I knew a Rita in elementary. No Rita."

"Jessica."

"No," Sam and Emily said together.

"Astra?" Sam suggested.

They looked at each other. "I like that one," Emily said.

"Me too," Jess said. "Astra it is. Middle name - Mary?"

"That was my mother's name," Sam said. "I - uh - I'd rather not. Too much is fucked up with that family, I don't want to curse her."

"O-kay," Jess said, drawing out the syllables.

"How about Jasmine?" Sam asked. "It's a nice smell, pretty flower-"

"You want her to grow up to be a stripper?"

"Oh, shut up, Jess," Emily said. "Tradition says the middle name is in Old Latin, anyway. Cumula? It means cloud, or Heaven."

Sam remembered praying for angels to come and help him, all his life, and only once had his prayers been answered. "I like that name."

"So. Astra Cumula it is. That's decided. Next down. Raise the kid religious?"

"Um," Sam said. "I mean, I believe, but I've never really gone to church. You?"

"Raised atheist."

"Huh," Jess said. "All right, you two, duke it out."

Emily shrugged. "Couldn't we just - raise her by what we believe, and when she's old enough to decide we respect it either way?"

"That's too goddamn responsible," Jess complained.

"But it does make sense," Sam said, frowning a little. He didn't _like_ it, really, and he could tell Emily wasn't thrilled either, but it was the best compromise they were going to get, and they both knew it.

Maybe they should have discussed things more _before_ Emily got pregnant, but they really shouldn't have forgotten the Contraception Charm, either. A perfect clusterfuck of teenagers, alcohol, and impaired judgment.

Even so, Sam didn't regret one second of it. Their daughter would grow up better than he had - he would make damn fucking sure of it.

"What's next?" he asked.

Emily sighed and moved on.  
***  
McGonagall gave him the go-ahead to bring Astra into Hogwarts and sleep in his room at night. Sam wrote Emily to tell her that, and she responded with a letter about the latest ridiculous patient: a woman who had been cursed to talk only in limericks, and every two hours another piece of her turned into a snake. By the time they figured out a counter, all four limbs, her nose, her lips, and both of her eyes had been transfigured.

Sam laughed, relayed the story to Slughorn and Hagrid, and then retreated to the seventh floor to get the Room of Requirement ready for his sixth-years. It was a battle day.

Another few weeks passed. In the middle of March, Sam was patrolling the corridors one night after a quick run back to Emily's apartment to check on her. Six months in, she was really starting to show, and McGonagall had told him that when April began and she hit seven months, he was to go back to her at night. He hadn't even requested - she had just _given_. Well, told, really. She was _terrifying_ when she wanted to be - as befitted a woman who had faced Voldemort himself.

His thoughts were mostly with her as he walked along, sending the few couples he found on their way with barely a show of docking points. He really needed to speak with McGonagall about instituting a sex ed class, or at least a class on Contraception Charms.

There was another part of his mind stuck on Apparition lessons, which would take place all four weeks in April - two hour classes on each Saturday and Sunday. It had been a three-month class during the war, but was now a one-month intensive.

He was so busy thinking other things that he went right past the Astronomy Tower, then backtracked and looked up the stairs. It was always a popular lovers' spot, and he had broken up one too many couples to want to interrupt one more, and he'd climbed too many steps to want to do another staircase.

But it was his job, and his father's phantom voice was ringing in his head and calling him a wimp - what was a few more steps? Keep pushing, pushing, _push until you break!_

He shook it off and climbed anyway. He knew he was tired when his father crept into his conscious mind, but he had another two hours before he could crawl into bed for a few hours of nightmare-plagued sleep.

He climbed slowly, on the wrong side of the steps from normal so he could use the handrails. He paused outside the door and listened - if he heard anything, he'd knock, give them a minute or two to cover up, and then go inside. But he didn't hear anything, so he just opened the door and went in.

There was someone nestled in one of the alcoves surrounding the tower. "Hello?" Sam called, walking forward. The person jumped, and Sam saw a glint of metal in their lap, the full moon reflecting off it brightly.

Knife.

"Hey," Sam said, consciously gentling his voice. "Are you all right?"

Their breath hitched in a sob. Sam finished crossing the distance and slid down beside them. "Can I have the knife?"

The head shook, and the fingers clenching the handle got tighter.

"Okay," he said softly, "okay. Can you at least talk to me?"

There was another hitched breath, and then the person looked up. Sam placed her instantly: Amelia Franks, sixth-year Ravenclaw.

"Amelia," he said. "Amelia, what's going on? Talk to me."

She nodded. "It's just," she said quietly. "It's just. My parents died in the war, and so me and my little brother Jake, we crashed with our Muggle cousins over the summer." Jake Franks. The single casualty in the most recent attack on Hogsmeade. "And now Jake's gone, and I've lost _everyone_ , Professor. I can't close my eyes without seeing their faces, and how they died, because I saw all of them." Her voice broke. "I saw them all die, and I couldn't stop it, and I just - I can't live like this."

"You can," Sam said firmly. "You've made it through every bad night and every bad day you've ever had. You're batting a thousand, Amelia, and that's a good average. Better than mine." She looked up at him questioningly, and he pulled down the collar of his robes so she could see the thick, ropy scar that still decorated his neck. "Fourth year. The school had just found out I was a hunter. Cutting Curse."

"That's what you use in battle to kill."

"Yeah, well, this was the first time I tried it. I missed the big veins, obviously." He half-smiled. "I regretted it for...quite a while. But it does - I'm a walking cliché, but it _does_ get better. Eventually. It takes a long time, but the sun comes up."

"How do _you_ know?"

"Because I watched my family die, too," Sam said. "I watched my mom die. I got cut off from my family - not because they died, but because they just plain didn't want me when they found out I was a wizard. So I get it, I do. I see people I care about die when I sleep, and I remember my mother's screaming. I remember my dad's face when he told me I was a fucking demon and I couldn't ever come back. I remember being tossed out of my dorm room and sleeping on the couch. I remember being hexed in the hallways. I remember feeling so isolated and so sure nothing would ever change."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. That big, gaping hole in your chest? That - that empty cylinder where your sternum should be?" He rocked a hand over the middle of his chest to show her where it was in case she didn't know. Wizards probably used different terms. "And it's pressing on your lungs, and you can't draw a deep breath, right? It's this big, gaping maw of loss and grief and something darker than black."

"You understand," she said quietly. "How - how did you-?"

"Potions," he said. "My friends, they helped - stopped scapegoating me. We started all over, from scratch. Pretended fourth year never happened. Your friends, they'll help you too. You just have to let them."

"How? How do I stop-" Her voice broke again.

"First, you give me the knife." She bit her lip and looked down, as if considering. "You're not going to use it tonight," he told her quietly. "We both know that. Let me keep it somewhere safe for you."

She slid it closer, and he took it to slip into a pocket of his robes.

"Thank you," he said.

"So what now?"

"Now? We need to go to Pomfrey. She can give you something to keep you even until you can cope on your own. Then you're going back to your dorm, and you're going to bed. Tomorrow morning you wake up, you sit with your friends, you take your potion, and you pretend you're happy until you start being happy."

"How long did it take you?"

Sam tilted his head back and considered. "The potions let me get to a point where I could _be_ happy. It took a few weeks for me to adjust to them, and then I could remember what 'happy' even felt like." He half-smiled. "Little under two months, I'd say. But I was also under Umbridge at the time. You'll be all right - you just need a bit of time."

"What if - what if this never changes?"

"Then you learn to live with it," Sam said. "You learn to function with that great big hole in your chest because people depend on you and you've got something to live for - even if it's just eating ice cream one more time."

"What was your something to live for?"

"Shoving it in Umbridge's face that I could do well despite her," Sam answered promptly. "Then I got expelled anyway, and I met my half-brother in the States. And _then_ I met my now-wife. She's still the reason I get up in the morning."

"So - so even when your family dies…."

"It's not the end," Sam told her. "It means you make a new family, out of friends and their friends and their friends' friends. You choose who your mentor is, who your siblings are. Everything in life is about choice, and if you do this, you're making all of the choices you get in the future right now. You're choosing to never let them happen. Now come on - let's go see Pomfrey."

She swallowed. "All right."  
***  
Amelia started spending her time after dinner in his classroom, and Sam kept an eye on her. She worked steadily through her homework, and gradually began helping the younger years with problems they were having. The first time he saw her laugh he couldn't help but smile himself.

April dawned, bringing with it both his forced nightly reprieve from the castle and the Apparition lessons on the weekend. He joined the students taking the course on the front lawn to the school, choosing a spot in the very back corner. He didn't like to think of himself as vain, but when it came to learning new magic, students seeing their professor fail would likely be a bad idea. Sprout, Slughorn, McGonagall, and Vector were standing near the front.

Their instructor was a tall, barrel-chested man with a stern frown on his face. "Good morning," he called when he judged everyone had arrived. "My name is Nimber Gerkle and I am your Ministry Apparition instructor for the next month. You should all be ready for your Apparition tests at this time.

"It's usually impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within the Hogwarts grounds, but Headmistress McGonagall has lifted this enchantment for the next hour. You would be unwise to try to Apparate within the castle itself. Now all of you, arrange yourselves so you have five feet of clear space in front of you."

At once there was a great shuffling as everyone arranged themselves. Sam ended up by himself in the back left - good. Fewer witnesses for his first failures.

Wooden hoops suddenly appeared in front of them all. "The important thing to remember while Apparating," Gerkle said, "are the three Ds. Destination, determination, deliberation.

"Think only of your desired destination. For now, it's the middle of the hoop in front of you. Concentrate on that space."

Sam focused on the hoop, knowing he was unlikely to get it right on the first try.

"Determination - you must wish for every particle of your being to be in that space. It is not enough to focus only on, say, your head, or your chest - that's how you get Splinched. You must focus on moving your entire body.

"On my count, turn in place deliberately! One, two, three!"

Sam turned, focusing hard, and got - nothing.

Nobody else did, either, so he didn't feel too awful. In fact, some of them had fallen over entirely.

His second attempt was no better than his first, but he thought he felt it brush the edge of his mind, a sparkling black drape. For his third attempt, he focused on the inside of his hoop and imagined that covering him - conforming to his shape, and then _displacing_ , appearing within the hoop as it was-

"Try again," Gerkle called, and this time he remembered to turn in place.

There was a horrible feeling of pressure, like he was getting sucked through a drinking straw; everything went black; he couldn't breathe, couldn't see, his eyeballs and eardrums were going to pop-

And then he had to cry out and fall to his knees, grabbing his shoulder instinctively, because it was on _fire_ ; looking down, he couldn't see anything wrong with it, but that didn't mean much anymore, and being able to see meant little to him in the face of the pain radiating from where he'd been hit by the curse nearly a year ago now.

"Sam?" Slughorn asked quietly, appearing by his side.

" _Fuck_ ," Sam whimpered, closing his eyes against the pain and praying he wouldn't vomit. "Did I leave a piece behind or something?"

"No," Slughorn said. "Perfect Apparition, my boy, but - er - perhaps, with your injury…."

He trailed off, and Sam understood. "God I hope not," he said, forcing himself to stand. "It's gonna _suck_ if that's something I have to deal with every time."

"Mm, yes," Slughorn said, stepping back. "Another try, then, I suppose."

"Fantastic," Sam mumbled, returning to his original position.

By the end of the two hours, he'd Apparated five more times, each time with the same resulting burst of agony. He went to his knees on every attempt.

That didn't get better over time - for each of the next seven classes held in April, Apparition ended with the same result.

Battles for his seventh-years fell by the wayside as he tried to get them all ready for their NEWTs, and he called a halt to group battles to run through the OWL standards. Impromptu study sessions sprung up in his classroom after dinner every night, between dinner and curfew, at which time he would return to Emily's apartment.

They - or, more accurately, Sam - went house-hunting on his day off. He took as many pictures as he could; Emily was eight months pregnant, and she wasn't up to walking far, but he wanted her to know what the houses looked like.

"Thank you so much," he said to each realtor he met after they'd finished each tour. "I'll take these back to my wife, and we'll be in touch."

That night they spread the photos out over the coffee table. "All right," Sam said. "There are houses in Lancaster, Edinburgh, Cardiff, a couple of other Welsh towns I can't pronounce to save my life-"

"Hey. We can Apparate. Location doesn't really matter. Which house did you like?"

"There are two or three," Sam said. "This one, in Rattray. Scotland." He separated out a few photos from the stack and fanned them out. "Three bed, two bath. One level. Former owner lost an arm in the war, and the place was refurbished to work for someone with only one arm. So clearly, I'm a little biased just for that."

Emily laughed and looked through the pictures. "Looks like a good-sized living room. Big bay window. What about the others you liked?"

"Inverness," Sam said, pointing to another stack. He couldn't quite reach it this time, so Emily fanned them out. "Four bed, two and a half bath. Not technically in the city, but close enough for Astra - or other kids, if we have them - to go to Muggle school if they want to. Or we want them to, when the time comes, we didn't actually talk about that."

"Or about more kids."

Sam winced. "True."

"So tell me about the house in Inverness."

"Four bed, two and a half bath. Good-sized rooms. Big yard - playset in the back, two swings and a slide. Big enough yard for playing ball. Walking distance to a Muggle elementary school, two preschools, and a park. Small magic community in Inverness, didn't get that from the realtor, I just know how to look."

"Impressive," she said sarcastically. "And the third?"

"Uh, yeah, here," Sam said, finding the pictures he wanted. "Inveraray. Scotland. Near the water, lake or ocean or bay or something, didn't get a clear answer. But! Close to schools-"

"I'm sensing a pattern here."

Sam shrugged. "School's important. I went to something like twenty-seven different elementary schools in six years. And I don't - I mean, you're on nights, I'm on days, I don't want her to be in the house by herself all the time, you know? We'll both be sleeping when we're home."

"Yeah," Emily said. "I get it. Makes sense. Okay, so preschool and elementary and then Hogwarts? These were the only three houses, right?"

"They were the ones that stood out," Sam said, "but you know me, I can be happy anywhere."

"Let's look at these three your next day off," Emily said. "When is that?"

"May eighth."

"Mm, and your birthday's coming up, isn't it? Got any plans?"

"It's also the anniversary of the worst battles in British Wizarding history, so no, I will not be celebrating my nineteenth birthday in any way but remembering how I spent my eighteenth."

"God, what a mess. Can't believe your luck there."

"Yeah, well. I'm a Winchester, bad luck runs in the family. I got pictures of the other six houses I went to today - you look through them, see if anything strikes your fancy. I'll start dinner."

"All right," Emily said. "There's, uh, frozen veggies and thawed chicken in the fridge."

"I'll get something together," Sam said. "Hey, I ever tell you about the first Thanksgiving I celebrated? Kate worked nights, so I tried to get the whole thing together."

"How'd it turn out?"

"Horrible." He found the veggies. "How about stir-fry?"

"Sure."  
***  
May rolled around; Sam took his Apparition test on the first and got his license. It still sent him to his knees in pain every time, but at least now he could legally Apparate. His eight-year-old self was over the moon - he'd always wanted to teleport.

The next day marked the first week of testing, the anniversary of the Second Battle of Hogwarts, and Sam's birthday. Emily sent him a pocketwatch in the mail. The Great Hall was decked in black rather than the usual House banners. Not one person was laughing, even the first-years too subdued by the overall atmosphere.

Sam's classroom filled up that day - everyone in Hogwarts, it seemed like, everyone who wanted somewhere to be that wasn't their dorm room, everyone who felt isolated, everyone who wanted company but didn't want to talk to anyone else. Amelia Franks came, and Sam sat next to her for ten minutes, not speaking, just sitting there.

He wanted to rip every Death Eater limb from limb for what they'd done to these kids, but he couldn't. All he could do was sit in the room and make sure nobody hurt each other in the duels that periodically broke out, a release of tension in the only way some of these kids knew how. The ones who fought found release in fighting the way Sam found release in running, and Sam was skilled enough in healing to fix the minor scratches the duelers got and a broken arm that came at the end of one of the fights, at which time Sam called a halt and set a ward against one wall, effectively turning it into a self-contained dueling platform. "Don't hurt each other too bad, or Pomfrey'll have my head," he told the fourth-years who were going inside.

McGonagall gave a speech before dinner about the loss of life and the triumph of the 'Light' side. Sam barely ate, knowing Emily was planning on greeting him with cake when he got back to her apartment that night.

As expected, she struggled to her feet to greet him, and he put an end to it by putting his hands on her shoulders and kissing her.

"Jess brought a cake by. It's in the kitchen. She says happy birthday."

"Then I say thanks. You want a piece?"

"I would love it. Big one. Lots of frosting."

"You're getting pretty close to popping, there," Sam said, handing her a slice of cake.

"Yeah. Another month or so." She took a bite of cake and moaned. "Oh, this is so good. Remind me to grovel at Jess's feet when she stops by next."

"Will do." Sam took a bite. "Holy shit. This is fantastic. Real bakery?"

"Yeah. Use actual sugar in their icing."

"You can tell."

That week's classes were review. As a junior member of staff, Sam was exempt from proctoring the OWLs and NEWTs; he only had to finish writing his exams for the other years and make sure they remembered what they needed to.

That Saturday was his next full day off, and he and Emily spent the morning going to the three houses Sam had really liked. They started with the one in Rattray, the one that had been redone to accommodate for a missing arm - luckily, a missing _right_ arm, which meant that it was perfect for Sam. If the veteran had been missing his left arm, everything would be too backward for him to use. Even the doorknobs were on the left side; the shower was a walk-in, and Sam knew just how difficult it was to balance without the use of one arm. Climbing over a low wall was hard as hell, especially when a person was newly disabled.

"Thank you," Emily said when they'd finished the walk-through and the lockbox was back on the door. "We'll call you when we make a decision."

"Any other houses you're looking at?"

"Two," she said. "We're going there next - we'll let you know this afternoon either way. Thank you so much."

"Not a problem."

Next they went to Inverness, the one with the swingset in the backyard.

"Four bed, two and a half bath," the realtor said when he unlocked the door. "Good neighborhood, low crime - not like in cities. Last violent crime was two years ago, hit-and-run by a drunk. Nothing intentional except a few unarmed convenience store holdups. Shall we go in?" He ushered them inside.

"The family who lived here last was an elderly retired couple. When the woman died, he went to live with their son and their daughter-in-law. No deaths in the house's history." They found themselves in the living room, painted in the pale beige that seemed to be favored by people who knew somebody would be selling their home when they checked out - resale value mattered more than comfort, at a certain point when bodies degraded and physical comfort was nearly impossible to achieve.

"Thank you," Emily said when they were through. "We have one more walk-through this morning - we'll let you know this afternoon either way."

"Thank you," he said, and Sam and Emily walked off to find a secluded place to Apparate out to Inveraray for the house that was in easy walking distance to the schools and a bay.

"What do you think, walk with her until she's eight or so?" Emily asked him while they waited for the lockbox to open.

"Babe, you know how fucked up _my_ childhood was. Don't ask me about her safety, _tell_ me."

"Right, sorry, I forgot," she said. They both ignored the realtor's curious look.

"Three bed, one and a half bath," he said. "Two stories, big kitchen for entertaining. Friendly neighborhood. Lots of kids around for yours to play with - got any yet?"

"This is our first," Emily said, covering her belly protectively.

"Congratulations!"

"Thanks. So, you were saying?"

They returned to Emily's apartment for sandwiches at lunchtime. "So," she said. "Second time through for you. What did you think?"

Sam pulled her shoeless feet into his lap to rub them, knowing they were swollen and painful. "I really liked that first one."

"So did I," she said. "The second was a little too...old-folks-y for my taste. And we won't be able to redecorate for quite a while, with the baby on the way."

"And the third?"

"Too small."

"So the one in Rattray is it? We're doing this?"

"We're doing this," she said. "Let's call the realtors."

By the end of the day, they'd met the realtor of the first house, signed the paperwork, and planned to move in on the first of June.

The next week was the final exams for the rest of the students. Thursday night, after giving the test to his sixth-years, he returned to the apartment to find Jess scribbling on a piece of paper. "Oh, good," she said. "I was just going to leave a note."

"A-"

"Emily's in labor. Come on - we're going to St. Mungo's."

"Never been," Sam said.

"I'll Side-Along you, come on," she said, holding out a hand.

Sam took it, and he was being squeezed through the tube again. The familiar burst of pain, bursting and slowly fading, spread through him.

"This way," Jess said, pulling him to the elevator. He got in with her, and when they reached their floor, he followed her to a room. "Hey, Emily."

"Hey, Jess. Sam!"

"Hey, Em. I'm here." He hurried forward. "How you doing?"

"I'm o-ooh! - I'm okay."

He brushed her hair off her forehead. "Healers say anything?"

"Almost fully dilated as of" - she checked the clock - "three minutes ago. Thank God I'm not a Muggle, no way in hell'd I be doing this without magic."

A blonde woman with a bright smile came in the room. "All right, hun, we're about ready. Let me just check…." She case a quick spell. "You're ready! Push for me when you feel a contraction."

It was a hell of a lot faster and easier than it was in the Muggle world, at least according to Sam's limited experience. Not ten minutes passed before they were being handed a clean little girl with a face like a squished potato.

"She's perfect," Sam whispered, touching a cheek with his finger. "Our little Astra Cumula."

Emily grinned up at him. "Love you."

"Love you too," he said, their intertwined lives stretching before him with infinite possibility.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! College just started up, so I may not have a whole lot of time to write. I also don't have internet at my uncle's house, so please don't take it personally if I don't respond right away. On a similar note, PLEASE DO NOT COMMENT IF ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY IS 'PLEASE UPDATE' OR 'WHEN IS THE NEXT UPDATE'. It's disheartening to see a new message in my inbox and then only find people telling me to hurry up.
> 
> Hope you guys are all having a good one!


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